fic: Invitation (Martín Demichelis/Martín Cáceres, NC-17)
Title: Invitation
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Málaga CF/Sevilla FC
Pairing: Martín Demichelis/Martín Cáceres
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: Micho invites Martín to Málaga.
Dedication: For the wonderful and amazing bibi_bloom, happy birthday! ♥
Word Count: 3,852
A/N: For the sake of clarity, Demichelis is "Micho" in this story, and Cáceres is "Martín".
Thanks to the wonderful ladies on Twitter who sent me encouraging tweets when I was complaining about being a shit writer. I might not quite believe what you said but it definitely made me feel better. ;)
And if anyone finds any mistakes in this fic, please point them out to me - though I hope there aren't any left. *shifty eyes*
Allergy Warning: Contains large traces (~100%) of PWP. Read at own risk.
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
It all seemed so easy and uncomplicated in theory. A little piece of paper, pressed into Martín's hand at the end of the match when everyone was exchanging shirts. An invitation. "Stop by whenever you're in town." And an address in Málaga, hastily scribbled down. Nothing else, but the glances they'd exchanged during the match, the way Micho's hands had slowly travelled along Martín's hips and underneath his shirt during setpieces, and the grin he flashed him as the note changed hands left no doubts about what was on offer. And Martín was more than okay with it.
However, now that he's standing on Micho's doorstep a week later, waiting for the Argentine to open the door, a feeling of uncertainty spreads in Martín's stomach and he wonders if he misinterpreted everything. Will Micho even remember having invited him? Is he actually at home? Or has he, Martín, made an utter fool of himself by coming here and expecting something to happen that might not even have been offered in the first place?
When Micho finally opens the door, he looks surprised to see the Uruguayan but immediately ushers him into the house with a wide smile.
"Did you think I wouldn't come?" Martín asks as he takes off his shoes and jacket, not knowing what else to say.
Micho grins at him. "Well, now that you're here, I'm quite sure you will."
The blunt statement brings a light flush to Martín's face and a warm, tingling sensation to his groin. He's clearly not used to this, to accepting invitations for sex, no strings attached, but he isn't particularly intent on letting Micho know it. This new situation excites him, Micho excites him, and he doesn't want him to call the whole thing off just because of his own lack of experience.
"You don't beat around the bush," Martín laughs, tossing his jacket on the sofa and trying his best to appear casual, nonchalant, as if he'd done this a hundred times and more.
Micho seems to buy Martín's act, or if he doesn't, he doesn't show it. "Beating around the bush has never done me any good," he replies with a smirk and takes a few steps towards the Uruguayan, closing the distance between them.
When Micho puts his hand on Martín's cheek, fingers gently but firmly cupping his neck, Martín's breath hitches in his throat and his pulse quickens.
There's no "How was your trip?", no idle conversation about the weather or football, no chit chat. And Martín is grateful for it. He doesn't want to waste time talking when he can put his mouth to much better use.
An instant later, Micho's lips meet his, gently at first, as if to give Martín a last chance to back out, but at this point nothing could be further from the Uruguayan's mind. Eager to get as close to Micho as possible, he wraps his hands around the Argentine's hips, pulls him closer and leans into the kiss, sucking and lapping at Micho's lips and nudging them apart to push his tongue into Micho's mouth.
Their groins clash, both of them craving contact, and Martín is glad to find out he's not the only one half-hard already. Micho's hands dig into his hair, pulling gently but firmly at the long strands as he deepens the kiss, and the Uruguayan's cock fills rapidly in his pants.
Fingers fly to buttons of shirts, tugging and pulling frantically, eager to touch bare skin, and they clumsily stumble through the living room, refusing to let go of each other for even a second, refusing to break this brilliant, hot kiss. Micho doesn't seem to mind knocking over a lamp just like Martín doesn't mind when his back hits the wall forcefully and the their bodies meet, flush against each other, as if Micho wants to push him right through the wall. He's so fucking close that the gorgeous, spicy scent of Micho's cologne fills Martín's nostrils and nearly intoxicates him, and yet not close enough.
Suddenly, Micho roughly flips him over, breaking the kiss, and Martín has barely begun to refill his lungs with air when the Argentine pushes himself back against him, his hard cock grinding against Martín's arse while Micho's hands fiddle deftly with the buttons of Martín's jeans. It almost feels like benediction when the buttons finally come undone and Martín moans with relief as Micho shoves his hand in, palming Martín's erection through his boxers.
"You like that, huh?" Micho's breath is hot and hoarse against Martín's cheek, sending a shiver down the Uruguayan's spine.
"Yes!" Martín gaps, nodding frantically and pushing his arse back against Micho to emphasize his point.
Micho chuckles as he continues feeling Martín up, slowly but firmly, before suddenly, his other hand digs into Martín's hair again. And then, Micho yanks at it, making Martín groan out and throw his head back, and the Uruguayan nearly comes in his pants when Micho's lips land on his neck and start sucking at his pulse point, sending jolts of lust through Martín's entire body. He can't remember having been so horny in his entire life.
He has half a mind to push Micho away, tear off all his clothes and get on his hands and knees right then and there, not even caring what Micho will do with him along as it involves a good, hard fuck, but then Micho pulls away on his own account and turns him around.
For a while they just stand there, breathing hard and eyeing each other hungrily. Martín drinks in the image of Micho, his flushed face, his swollen, wet lips, his dark eyes, those little droplets of sweat running down his muscular chest, his jeans hanging loosely around his hips, and the outline of his erection against his black briefs.
The Uruguayan is too hoarse to speak and glad about it, because he'd probably say something really stupid and embarrassing like "wow, you're hot" or "thank you for wanting to fuck me", and he'd rather not make a complete fool of himself right now, not when he's so horny and Micho is looking at him like that, as if he's really, really pleased with what he sees, too.
The realisation boosts Martín's confidence and he leans back against the wall and pulls his shirt up slightly to reveal his tanned abs to his opposite. His other hand snakes into his jeans, rubbing his dick slowly, teasingly, as if to put on a show, and when he sees Martín's reaction, the way his eyes widen, the way he runs his tongue across his lips, he knows he's doing the right thing. He spreads his legs wider, digging deeper into his jeans to cup himself, and throws his head back, moaning softly.
"Fuck," Micho breathes out, unable to tear his gaze away from the spectacle in front of him. "You slut…"
"Yes," Martín gasps, feeling more and more confident about what he's doing. "I'm so hot…" And it's not even an exaggeration, he can feel his entire self burning up under Micho's hungry gaze, sweat running down his chest and back. "So horny, Micho…"
"What do you want?" Micho sounds hoarse, his arousal evident in his voice. "Tell me what you want."
"Isn't that obvious?" Martín doesn't understand the question. Actually, he doesn't understand why they're still standing here, talking, when they could be in Micho's bedroom by now, fucking like animals.
"Say it," Micho insists, and finally Martín realises what this is about.
"Anything," he says truthfully, trying not to sound too desperate. "You can do anything you want with me. Suck me, fuck me, jerk me off, just… do something. Please. Please…"
Micho doesn't even wait for more. Before Martín can think of anything else to say, the Argentine has already grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the wall. "Follow me," he says unnecessarily, not just because Martín wouldn't have gone anywhere else at this point but also because Micho is dragging him the entire way to the bedroom.
He doesn't get a chance to familiarise himself with the surroundings. As soon as the door closes behind them, Micho's hands are back on Martín, tugging at his shirt. The Uruguayan obediently lifts his arms so Micho can pull the garment over his head before ridding himself of his own shirt.
Refusing to waste any more time, Martín pulls down his jeans and boxers in one go and steps out of them, removing his socks as well. He knows Micho is looking at him, checking him out from head to toe, and even though he's slightly nervous, he's not uncomfortable. Micho has already seen him half-naked and hasn't complained before, and Martín has looked at himself in the mirror often enough to know he doesn't have to worry about the size of his dick or the appeal of his arse.
Micho's hands move to open his own jeans but Martín stops him. "Let me."
He half expects the zipper to get stuck or come off or something equally embarrassing but thankfully none of that happens and a second later he pulls down Micho's jeans and briefs and eagerly wraps his hand around the other man's - admittedly - very impressive cock to get a proper feel of it. It's just as he likes them, thick and hard and just the right length, and Martín doesn't even dare to imagine how utterly amazing it will feel inside him because really, he's too old for premature ejaculations.
Micho licks his lips and pulls Martín into another kiss, deep and slow this time. Their tongues rub against each other as the Argentine's hands wander down Martín's chest and abs, exploring, making Martín's skin tingle with heat. Finally, they land on Martín's ass, firmly squeezing his buttocks, and the Uruguayan moans and bucks his hips. He can't wait any longer. He wants him now.
He deftly squirms out of Micho's grip, breaking the kiss, and throws himself on the bed, legs spread obscenely widely, a hand on his dick, slowly stroking himself, gazing at Micho as if to challenge him into pouncing him.
"What are you waiting for?" he says almost defiantly. "Come and take me. You know you want to."
Micho growls at the younger man's cheeky remark as if it's exactly what he wanted to hear, and in the blink of an eye he has joined Martín on the bed, kissing him fiercely, biting his neck, sucking at his nipples until he cries out, hands roaming eagerly over his body, and it takes all of Martín's effort not to lose himself in the sensation and savour it passively but to make the best of the opportunity and explore Micho in return. They're long past the stage of carefulness by then, tossing and turning each other around on the bed in pure, unadulterated want, grinding against each other, hands all over each other.
Finally, Micho flips Martín on his stomach and covers him, holding him in place with the weight of his entire body, and Martín squirms underneath him, spreading his legs wide until he can feel Micho's erection slide downwards between his buttocks, tip resting against his hole, right where he wants it. He's so hard, so eager, so horny that he might not even have complained if Micho had entered him dry at this point, but the Argentine turns out to be in better control of his wits.
Martín feels Micho stretch himself slightly on top of him, probably reaching for a drawer in his bedside table before lifting himself off Martín and kneeling between his legs. An instant later, something cool and slick touches the Uruguayan's sensitive opening and breaches the ring of muscle, and Martín eagerly pushes his arse up to greedily take in Micho's fingers.
"So impatient," Micho says with a chuckle, sounding obviously turned on by Martín's eagerness.
"More," Martín gasps, moaning as Micho adds another finger, experimentally scissoring them inside him. "Deeper, deeper…" He is about to become absolute potty in Micho's hands, so dizzy with lust that he's almost unable to think of anything but the feeling of those fingers inside him and the prospect of getting fucked into oblivion by a big, hard Argentine dick.
Finally, finally, Micho hits his prostate, sending a wave of tingling heat through Martín's entire body and the Uruguayan groans out, back arching upwards at the sensation. "Fuck, yes! Right there! Right… fuck!"
When Micho's fingers brush over the sensitive spot a second and a third time, Martín nearly comes on the spot, it feels too fucking good. He bites his lip forcefully and tries his best to calm himself down, to think of something else, to ignore how skilfully Micho's fingers move inside him. He doesn't want this to be over yet, no matter how much his body craves to come right now.
"Stop, stop," he manages finally, hoarse from breathing too hard, "stop, or I'll come."
"Can't have that now," Micho says, immediately removing his fingers, and Martín can practically hear the smug grin on his face. "Or do you want me to take the edge off?"
"No," Martín says without even wasting a second thinking about it.
He is more than aware of how close he is, and if Micho uses his dick as well as his fingers, then Martín is quite sure he won't last long being fucked, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want any preliminary consolation prize, he wants the real thing, right here and right now. He wants to come with Micho inside him, no matter if it happens after a minute or after ten minutes. Or if Micho manages to fuck him long and hard enough to make him come twice.
"Get on your hands and knees," the Argentine orders, and Martín complies immediately, lifting himself off the bed and positioning himself, legs wide apart, arse pushed up high, ready to be plundered.
Micho doesn't make him wait any longer. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs one of the wrapped condoms, bites it open, tosses the wrapper on the pillow next to Martín, and mere seconds later, the tip of his cock presses against his tight entrance and slides in inch by inch, filling Martín up deliciously and yet way too slowly. He hasn't done this in a while, and the toys he hides in the back of his bedroom wardrobe don't compare to big guys like Micho either, but the slight twinge of pain he feels as Micho enters him adds to the pleasure, and Martín groans through gritted teeth, breath coming in quick puffs as he takes Micho deeper and deeper.
The Argentine's hands are on his hips, holding him firmly as Micho pulls out almost all the way and then slowly pushes himself back in, as if to tease Martín on purpose. He wants to push back against him, wants to impale himself on Micho's cock properly, but the Argentine doesn't let him, doesn't relinquish his lead.
"Faster," Martín breathes when the slow torture becomes too much to bear, "please, Micho, you're driving me crazy!"
"Me?" Micho gasps almost incredulously. "You're so fucking tight, like you've never even done this before, and you think I'm driving you crazy?"
Martín would probably have laughed at that if he weren't so incredibly turned on by the thought of Micho having difficulties controlling himself because of him, because of his tight arse, because he's (hopefully) a great fuck.
"I've done this before," he says, not knowing if Micho actually wants to know. "Just… not in a while. At least… not properly."
Micho's breath hitches. "Not properly?" he asks without slowing down. "How does that work?"
Martín blushes a little. He isn't sure he really wants to give Micho details about how he gets himself off, but he figures it just might move the Argentine into gear. "I… have toys," he says finally, "I fuck myself with them… slam them into myself, hard…"
"Fuck…" Micho gasps behind him and finally increases his speed, pushing in deeper, and Martín takes this as his cue to continue talking.
"And then I fantasize… about big guys… like you, Micho… fucking me… taking me hard…" It gets more and more difficult to talk while Micho is thrusting into him, going deeper and deeper every time and moaning gutturally at every forceful thrust.
"Making me moan so loud that I… that I think my lungs explode… and it's so good… so sexy… and-"
Suddenly, Micho's hand grabs a fistful of Martín's hair and, without a warning, pulls his head back roughly. Martín's spine curves reflexively, and just in this very moment the Argentine slams back into him, nearly making Martín see stars.
"Oh fuck!"
Martín almost loses control of himself at the unexpected rush of pleasure taking hold of his entire body. He doesn't get time to adjust himself to the sensation because Micho, obviously heeding the cue, shoves his cock back in deep, and Martín sobs with pleasure.
Again and again, he thrusts into him, faster every time, hitting Martín's prostate with every single thrust, until Martín's fingers dig so deep into the bedsheet that it tears apart as he fights his desperate need for release. He can barely breathe, his mind is dazed with lust, and every nerve in his body seems to respond to Micho, driving Martín closer and closer to orgasm.
Suddenly, Micho pulls out, and Martín wants to scream at him, wants to lunge at him and grab his cock and shove it back into himself, but then Micho reaches for him and flips him over, tossing him onto his back.
And Martín's heart nearly stands still at the sight in front of him.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined anything like this, and there it is, or there he is, breathing hard, soaked in sweat, hair clinging to his face and neck, looking fucking gorgeous, and staring at Martín like he's having the best fuck of his life.
"Fucking hell, Pelado," Micho all but gasps out, his voice strained and hoarse.
Martín smiles at him, trying to get his frantically beating heart under control. "Fucking hell yourself!" he rasps, throat dry from breathing too hard. "A minute longer and I would have come all over this room. Fuck."
Micho licks his lips. "I want to see you when you do," he says, shifting closer to kneel between Martín's legs, and the Uruguayan eagerly spreads them wide to grant the other man better access. He still can't quite believe they're doing this, but he knows he isn't dreaming either, it's too real, too good, too intense to be just a dream.
He raises his hips slightly, waiting for Micho to nudge his knees underneath the Uruguayan's thighs, and closes his eyes as the Argentine runs his fingers across Martín's chest, over his nipples and stomach and down the thin trail of hair below his navel.
"You're beautiful, man, you know that?" the Argentine suddenly says, fingers stroking softly along Martín's sensitive, rock-hard cock.
The Uruguayan hisses at the touch, face flushing beet-red. "I swear, Micho," he growls, embarrassed by the unexpected compliment and eager to change the topic, "if you don't get your dick back inside my ass right now, I'm going to break your nose."
Micho chuckles. "A very compelling argument," he says with a smirk, grabbing the bottle of lube on the bedside table and spreading another dollop on his erection - and Martín realises that yes, it looks just as amazing as it feels. Thick and hard, and Martín shivers with excitement as Micho positions it at his hole again, spreading the lube around the muscled ring before pushing inside again.
When he's all the way in, his stomach pressing against Martín's balls, both men groan out almost in unison.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Martín gasps, throwing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes, savouring Micho's shallow, gentle thrusts. "Fucking me so deep…"
"You like it like this?"
Martín smiles and nods. "I like everything you do to me… Slow, fast, hard, gentle, everything."
"As long as I'm doing something, right?" Micho says with a grin, making Martín laugh.
"Exactly."
They fuck like this for a while, slowly, enjoying each other's bodies, and when Micho bends down to claim Martín's lips in a deep, sensual kiss, the Uruguayan kisses back happily, loving the taste of Micho's mouth, the feeling of his tongue against his, and the way he sucks and nibbles at Martín's lips. Nobody has ever kissed him like that, and he can't get enough of it.
Finally, Micho breaks the kiss and increases the speed of his thrusts, but this time Martín doesn't close his eyes. This time, he wants to see everything, wants to watch until the image is etched I his mind and he'll at least have something to jerk off to when he's back in Sevilla. Because fuck, the way Micho looks as he thrusts into him, the look of concentration on his face, the way he grits his teeth, and the fiery look in his eyes are better than anything he could make up in his most desperate hour.
When Micho's fingers curl around Martín's cock, the Uruguayan nearly jumps off the bed. "No," he gasps, shoving the Argentine's hand away. "No." He normally likes being jerked off while having his ass fucked, but not this time, not when he wants to last as long as possible.
Micho looks at him with surprise. "You can come like this?"
Martín nods, groaning as Micho thrusts into him again hard, hitting his prostate with full force. "Oh fuck yes," he all but sobs. "Keep this up and I will. Oh God…"
His hands dig into the sheets again, gripping them so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms, but no matter how hard he tries to fight it, no matter how hard he grits his teeth, biting his lips until he draws blood, he can't prevent the inevitable. Only a dozen more thrusts later, it's over, and Martín comes harder than he's ever come in his life, his body shaking and jerking and his mind nearly going blank with the intensity of his release.
Micho follows suit, crying out and throwing his head back as he delivers his final, hard thrusts, rides out his own orgasm and finally collapses on top of Martín, spent and exhausted.
For a while they just lie there, breathing hard, slowly recovering their bearings. Martín's fingers lazily brush the strands of hair out of Micho's face while the Argentine's fingers draw circles on the Uruguayan's stomach.
"Can we do this again?" Martín asks after a while, already bracing himself up for a negative reply, because honestly, what the hell is he thinking? They're both professional footballers in the middle of their careers. They can't afford risking that for sex, no matter how good it is.
But the negative reply doesn't come. Instead, Micho chuckles, pulls Martín into a slow, gentle kiss.
"Give me an hour and we're back in business."
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Málaga CF/Sevilla FC
Pairing: Martín Demichelis/Martín Cáceres
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: Micho invites Martín to Málaga.
Dedication: For the wonderful and amazing bibi_bloom, happy birthday! ♥
Word Count: 3,852
A/N: For the sake of clarity, Demichelis is "Micho" in this story, and Cáceres is "Martín".
Thanks to the wonderful ladies on Twitter who sent me encouraging tweets when I was complaining about being a shit writer. I might not quite believe what you said but it definitely made me feel better. ;)
And if anyone finds any mistakes in this fic, please point them out to me - though I hope there aren't any left. *shifty eyes*
Allergy Warning: Contains large traces (~100%) of PWP. Read at own risk.
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
It all seemed so easy and uncomplicated in theory. A little piece of paper, pressed into Martín's hand at the end of the match when everyone was exchanging shirts. An invitation. "Stop by whenever you're in town." And an address in Málaga, hastily scribbled down. Nothing else, but the glances they'd exchanged during the match, the way Micho's hands had slowly travelled along Martín's hips and underneath his shirt during setpieces, and the grin he flashed him as the note changed hands left no doubts about what was on offer. And Martín was more than okay with it.
However, now that he's standing on Micho's doorstep a week later, waiting for the Argentine to open the door, a feeling of uncertainty spreads in Martín's stomach and he wonders if he misinterpreted everything. Will Micho even remember having invited him? Is he actually at home? Or has he, Martín, made an utter fool of himself by coming here and expecting something to happen that might not even have been offered in the first place?
When Micho finally opens the door, he looks surprised to see the Uruguayan but immediately ushers him into the house with a wide smile.
"Did you think I wouldn't come?" Martín asks as he takes off his shoes and jacket, not knowing what else to say.
Micho grins at him. "Well, now that you're here, I'm quite sure you will."
The blunt statement brings a light flush to Martín's face and a warm, tingling sensation to his groin. He's clearly not used to this, to accepting invitations for sex, no strings attached, but he isn't particularly intent on letting Micho know it. This new situation excites him, Micho excites him, and he doesn't want him to call the whole thing off just because of his own lack of experience.
"You don't beat around the bush," Martín laughs, tossing his jacket on the sofa and trying his best to appear casual, nonchalant, as if he'd done this a hundred times and more.
Micho seems to buy Martín's act, or if he doesn't, he doesn't show it. "Beating around the bush has never done me any good," he replies with a smirk and takes a few steps towards the Uruguayan, closing the distance between them.
When Micho puts his hand on Martín's cheek, fingers gently but firmly cupping his neck, Martín's breath hitches in his throat and his pulse quickens.
There's no "How was your trip?", no idle conversation about the weather or football, no chit chat. And Martín is grateful for it. He doesn't want to waste time talking when he can put his mouth to much better use.
An instant later, Micho's lips meet his, gently at first, as if to give Martín a last chance to back out, but at this point nothing could be further from the Uruguayan's mind. Eager to get as close to Micho as possible, he wraps his hands around the Argentine's hips, pulls him closer and leans into the kiss, sucking and lapping at Micho's lips and nudging them apart to push his tongue into Micho's mouth.
Their groins clash, both of them craving contact, and Martín is glad to find out he's not the only one half-hard already. Micho's hands dig into his hair, pulling gently but firmly at the long strands as he deepens the kiss, and the Uruguayan's cock fills rapidly in his pants.
Fingers fly to buttons of shirts, tugging and pulling frantically, eager to touch bare skin, and they clumsily stumble through the living room, refusing to let go of each other for even a second, refusing to break this brilliant, hot kiss. Micho doesn't seem to mind knocking over a lamp just like Martín doesn't mind when his back hits the wall forcefully and the their bodies meet, flush against each other, as if Micho wants to push him right through the wall. He's so fucking close that the gorgeous, spicy scent of Micho's cologne fills Martín's nostrils and nearly intoxicates him, and yet not close enough.
Suddenly, Micho roughly flips him over, breaking the kiss, and Martín has barely begun to refill his lungs with air when the Argentine pushes himself back against him, his hard cock grinding against Martín's arse while Micho's hands fiddle deftly with the buttons of Martín's jeans. It almost feels like benediction when the buttons finally come undone and Martín moans with relief as Micho shoves his hand in, palming Martín's erection through his boxers.
"You like that, huh?" Micho's breath is hot and hoarse against Martín's cheek, sending a shiver down the Uruguayan's spine.
"Yes!" Martín gaps, nodding frantically and pushing his arse back against Micho to emphasize his point.
Micho chuckles as he continues feeling Martín up, slowly but firmly, before suddenly, his other hand digs into Martín's hair again. And then, Micho yanks at it, making Martín groan out and throw his head back, and the Uruguayan nearly comes in his pants when Micho's lips land on his neck and start sucking at his pulse point, sending jolts of lust through Martín's entire body. He can't remember having been so horny in his entire life.
He has half a mind to push Micho away, tear off all his clothes and get on his hands and knees right then and there, not even caring what Micho will do with him along as it involves a good, hard fuck, but then Micho pulls away on his own account and turns him around.
For a while they just stand there, breathing hard and eyeing each other hungrily. Martín drinks in the image of Micho, his flushed face, his swollen, wet lips, his dark eyes, those little droplets of sweat running down his muscular chest, his jeans hanging loosely around his hips, and the outline of his erection against his black briefs.
The Uruguayan is too hoarse to speak and glad about it, because he'd probably say something really stupid and embarrassing like "wow, you're hot" or "thank you for wanting to fuck me", and he'd rather not make a complete fool of himself right now, not when he's so horny and Micho is looking at him like that, as if he's really, really pleased with what he sees, too.
The realisation boosts Martín's confidence and he leans back against the wall and pulls his shirt up slightly to reveal his tanned abs to his opposite. His other hand snakes into his jeans, rubbing his dick slowly, teasingly, as if to put on a show, and when he sees Martín's reaction, the way his eyes widen, the way he runs his tongue across his lips, he knows he's doing the right thing. He spreads his legs wider, digging deeper into his jeans to cup himself, and throws his head back, moaning softly.
"Fuck," Micho breathes out, unable to tear his gaze away from the spectacle in front of him. "You slut…"
"Yes," Martín gasps, feeling more and more confident about what he's doing. "I'm so hot…" And it's not even an exaggeration, he can feel his entire self burning up under Micho's hungry gaze, sweat running down his chest and back. "So horny, Micho…"
"What do you want?" Micho sounds hoarse, his arousal evident in his voice. "Tell me what you want."
"Isn't that obvious?" Martín doesn't understand the question. Actually, he doesn't understand why they're still standing here, talking, when they could be in Micho's bedroom by now, fucking like animals.
"Say it," Micho insists, and finally Martín realises what this is about.
"Anything," he says truthfully, trying not to sound too desperate. "You can do anything you want with me. Suck me, fuck me, jerk me off, just… do something. Please. Please…"
Micho doesn't even wait for more. Before Martín can think of anything else to say, the Argentine has already grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the wall. "Follow me," he says unnecessarily, not just because Martín wouldn't have gone anywhere else at this point but also because Micho is dragging him the entire way to the bedroom.
He doesn't get a chance to familiarise himself with the surroundings. As soon as the door closes behind them, Micho's hands are back on Martín, tugging at his shirt. The Uruguayan obediently lifts his arms so Micho can pull the garment over his head before ridding himself of his own shirt.
Refusing to waste any more time, Martín pulls down his jeans and boxers in one go and steps out of them, removing his socks as well. He knows Micho is looking at him, checking him out from head to toe, and even though he's slightly nervous, he's not uncomfortable. Micho has already seen him half-naked and hasn't complained before, and Martín has looked at himself in the mirror often enough to know he doesn't have to worry about the size of his dick or the appeal of his arse.
Micho's hands move to open his own jeans but Martín stops him. "Let me."
He half expects the zipper to get stuck or come off or something equally embarrassing but thankfully none of that happens and a second later he pulls down Micho's jeans and briefs and eagerly wraps his hand around the other man's - admittedly - very impressive cock to get a proper feel of it. It's just as he likes them, thick and hard and just the right length, and Martín doesn't even dare to imagine how utterly amazing it will feel inside him because really, he's too old for premature ejaculations.
Micho licks his lips and pulls Martín into another kiss, deep and slow this time. Their tongues rub against each other as the Argentine's hands wander down Martín's chest and abs, exploring, making Martín's skin tingle with heat. Finally, they land on Martín's ass, firmly squeezing his buttocks, and the Uruguayan moans and bucks his hips. He can't wait any longer. He wants him now.
He deftly squirms out of Micho's grip, breaking the kiss, and throws himself on the bed, legs spread obscenely widely, a hand on his dick, slowly stroking himself, gazing at Micho as if to challenge him into pouncing him.
"What are you waiting for?" he says almost defiantly. "Come and take me. You know you want to."
Micho growls at the younger man's cheeky remark as if it's exactly what he wanted to hear, and in the blink of an eye he has joined Martín on the bed, kissing him fiercely, biting his neck, sucking at his nipples until he cries out, hands roaming eagerly over his body, and it takes all of Martín's effort not to lose himself in the sensation and savour it passively but to make the best of the opportunity and explore Micho in return. They're long past the stage of carefulness by then, tossing and turning each other around on the bed in pure, unadulterated want, grinding against each other, hands all over each other.
Finally, Micho flips Martín on his stomach and covers him, holding him in place with the weight of his entire body, and Martín squirms underneath him, spreading his legs wide until he can feel Micho's erection slide downwards between his buttocks, tip resting against his hole, right where he wants it. He's so hard, so eager, so horny that he might not even have complained if Micho had entered him dry at this point, but the Argentine turns out to be in better control of his wits.
Martín feels Micho stretch himself slightly on top of him, probably reaching for a drawer in his bedside table before lifting himself off Martín and kneeling between his legs. An instant later, something cool and slick touches the Uruguayan's sensitive opening and breaches the ring of muscle, and Martín eagerly pushes his arse up to greedily take in Micho's fingers.
"So impatient," Micho says with a chuckle, sounding obviously turned on by Martín's eagerness.
"More," Martín gasps, moaning as Micho adds another finger, experimentally scissoring them inside him. "Deeper, deeper…" He is about to become absolute potty in Micho's hands, so dizzy with lust that he's almost unable to think of anything but the feeling of those fingers inside him and the prospect of getting fucked into oblivion by a big, hard Argentine dick.
Finally, finally, Micho hits his prostate, sending a wave of tingling heat through Martín's entire body and the Uruguayan groans out, back arching upwards at the sensation. "Fuck, yes! Right there! Right… fuck!"
When Micho's fingers brush over the sensitive spot a second and a third time, Martín nearly comes on the spot, it feels too fucking good. He bites his lip forcefully and tries his best to calm himself down, to think of something else, to ignore how skilfully Micho's fingers move inside him. He doesn't want this to be over yet, no matter how much his body craves to come right now.
"Stop, stop," he manages finally, hoarse from breathing too hard, "stop, or I'll come."
"Can't have that now," Micho says, immediately removing his fingers, and Martín can practically hear the smug grin on his face. "Or do you want me to take the edge off?"
"No," Martín says without even wasting a second thinking about it.
He is more than aware of how close he is, and if Micho uses his dick as well as his fingers, then Martín is quite sure he won't last long being fucked, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want any preliminary consolation prize, he wants the real thing, right here and right now. He wants to come with Micho inside him, no matter if it happens after a minute or after ten minutes. Or if Micho manages to fuck him long and hard enough to make him come twice.
"Get on your hands and knees," the Argentine orders, and Martín complies immediately, lifting himself off the bed and positioning himself, legs wide apart, arse pushed up high, ready to be plundered.
Micho doesn't make him wait any longer. He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs one of the wrapped condoms, bites it open, tosses the wrapper on the pillow next to Martín, and mere seconds later, the tip of his cock presses against his tight entrance and slides in inch by inch, filling Martín up deliciously and yet way too slowly. He hasn't done this in a while, and the toys he hides in the back of his bedroom wardrobe don't compare to big guys like Micho either, but the slight twinge of pain he feels as Micho enters him adds to the pleasure, and Martín groans through gritted teeth, breath coming in quick puffs as he takes Micho deeper and deeper.
The Argentine's hands are on his hips, holding him firmly as Micho pulls out almost all the way and then slowly pushes himself back in, as if to tease Martín on purpose. He wants to push back against him, wants to impale himself on Micho's cock properly, but the Argentine doesn't let him, doesn't relinquish his lead.
"Faster," Martín breathes when the slow torture becomes too much to bear, "please, Micho, you're driving me crazy!"
"Me?" Micho gasps almost incredulously. "You're so fucking tight, like you've never even done this before, and you think I'm driving you crazy?"
Martín would probably have laughed at that if he weren't so incredibly turned on by the thought of Micho having difficulties controlling himself because of him, because of his tight arse, because he's (hopefully) a great fuck.
"I've done this before," he says, not knowing if Micho actually wants to know. "Just… not in a while. At least… not properly."
Micho's breath hitches. "Not properly?" he asks without slowing down. "How does that work?"
Martín blushes a little. He isn't sure he really wants to give Micho details about how he gets himself off, but he figures it just might move the Argentine into gear. "I… have toys," he says finally, "I fuck myself with them… slam them into myself, hard…"
"Fuck…" Micho gasps behind him and finally increases his speed, pushing in deeper, and Martín takes this as his cue to continue talking.
"And then I fantasize… about big guys… like you, Micho… fucking me… taking me hard…" It gets more and more difficult to talk while Micho is thrusting into him, going deeper and deeper every time and moaning gutturally at every forceful thrust.
"Making me moan so loud that I… that I think my lungs explode… and it's so good… so sexy… and-"
Suddenly, Micho's hand grabs a fistful of Martín's hair and, without a warning, pulls his head back roughly. Martín's spine curves reflexively, and just in this very moment the Argentine slams back into him, nearly making Martín see stars.
"Oh fuck!"
Martín almost loses control of himself at the unexpected rush of pleasure taking hold of his entire body. He doesn't get time to adjust himself to the sensation because Micho, obviously heeding the cue, shoves his cock back in deep, and Martín sobs with pleasure.
Again and again, he thrusts into him, faster every time, hitting Martín's prostate with every single thrust, until Martín's fingers dig so deep into the bedsheet that it tears apart as he fights his desperate need for release. He can barely breathe, his mind is dazed with lust, and every nerve in his body seems to respond to Micho, driving Martín closer and closer to orgasm.
Suddenly, Micho pulls out, and Martín wants to scream at him, wants to lunge at him and grab his cock and shove it back into himself, but then Micho reaches for him and flips him over, tossing him onto his back.
And Martín's heart nearly stands still at the sight in front of him.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined anything like this, and there it is, or there he is, breathing hard, soaked in sweat, hair clinging to his face and neck, looking fucking gorgeous, and staring at Martín like he's having the best fuck of his life.
"Fucking hell, Pelado," Micho all but gasps out, his voice strained and hoarse.
Martín smiles at him, trying to get his frantically beating heart under control. "Fucking hell yourself!" he rasps, throat dry from breathing too hard. "A minute longer and I would have come all over this room. Fuck."
Micho licks his lips. "I want to see you when you do," he says, shifting closer to kneel between Martín's legs, and the Uruguayan eagerly spreads them wide to grant the other man better access. He still can't quite believe they're doing this, but he knows he isn't dreaming either, it's too real, too good, too intense to be just a dream.
He raises his hips slightly, waiting for Micho to nudge his knees underneath the Uruguayan's thighs, and closes his eyes as the Argentine runs his fingers across Martín's chest, over his nipples and stomach and down the thin trail of hair below his navel.
"You're beautiful, man, you know that?" the Argentine suddenly says, fingers stroking softly along Martín's sensitive, rock-hard cock.
The Uruguayan hisses at the touch, face flushing beet-red. "I swear, Micho," he growls, embarrassed by the unexpected compliment and eager to change the topic, "if you don't get your dick back inside my ass right now, I'm going to break your nose."
Micho chuckles. "A very compelling argument," he says with a smirk, grabbing the bottle of lube on the bedside table and spreading another dollop on his erection - and Martín realises that yes, it looks just as amazing as it feels. Thick and hard, and Martín shivers with excitement as Micho positions it at his hole again, spreading the lube around the muscled ring before pushing inside again.
When he's all the way in, his stomach pressing against Martín's balls, both men groan out almost in unison.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Martín gasps, throwing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes, savouring Micho's shallow, gentle thrusts. "Fucking me so deep…"
"You like it like this?"
Martín smiles and nods. "I like everything you do to me… Slow, fast, hard, gentle, everything."
"As long as I'm doing something, right?" Micho says with a grin, making Martín laugh.
"Exactly."
They fuck like this for a while, slowly, enjoying each other's bodies, and when Micho bends down to claim Martín's lips in a deep, sensual kiss, the Uruguayan kisses back happily, loving the taste of Micho's mouth, the feeling of his tongue against his, and the way he sucks and nibbles at Martín's lips. Nobody has ever kissed him like that, and he can't get enough of it.
Finally, Micho breaks the kiss and increases the speed of his thrusts, but this time Martín doesn't close his eyes. This time, he wants to see everything, wants to watch until the image is etched I his mind and he'll at least have something to jerk off to when he's back in Sevilla. Because fuck, the way Micho looks as he thrusts into him, the look of concentration on his face, the way he grits his teeth, and the fiery look in his eyes are better than anything he could make up in his most desperate hour.
When Micho's fingers curl around Martín's cock, the Uruguayan nearly jumps off the bed. "No," he gasps, shoving the Argentine's hand away. "No." He normally likes being jerked off while having his ass fucked, but not this time, not when he wants to last as long as possible.
Micho looks at him with surprise. "You can come like this?"
Martín nods, groaning as Micho thrusts into him again hard, hitting his prostate with full force. "Oh fuck yes," he all but sobs. "Keep this up and I will. Oh God…"
His hands dig into the sheets again, gripping them so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms, but no matter how hard he tries to fight it, no matter how hard he grits his teeth, biting his lips until he draws blood, he can't prevent the inevitable. Only a dozen more thrusts later, it's over, and Martín comes harder than he's ever come in his life, his body shaking and jerking and his mind nearly going blank with the intensity of his release.
Micho follows suit, crying out and throwing his head back as he delivers his final, hard thrusts, rides out his own orgasm and finally collapses on top of Martín, spent and exhausted.
For a while they just lie there, breathing hard, slowly recovering their bearings. Martín's fingers lazily brush the strands of hair out of Micho's face while the Argentine's fingers draw circles on the Uruguayan's stomach.
"Can we do this again?" Martín asks after a while, already bracing himself up for a negative reply, because honestly, what the hell is he thinking? They're both professional footballers in the middle of their careers. They can't afford risking that for sex, no matter how good it is.
But the negative reply doesn't come. Instead, Micho chuckles, pulls Martín into a slow, gentle kiss.
"Give me an hour and we're back in business."