fic: Nocturnal Adventures (Javi Martínez/Ander Herrera, Iker Muniain/?, NC-17)
Title: Nocturnal Adventures
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Athletic Club Bilbao
Pairing: Javi Martínez/Ander Herrera, Iker Muniain/?
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: Trying to retrieve his misplaced mobile, a nightly trip to the locker room at Lezama turns into something completely unexpected.
Word Count: 2,102
A/N: Written for july_v's and my "Weekly Ander Appreciation" challenge (because Ander is awesome and deserves more fic). This week's prompts were "suck", this picture, and Javi/Ander. I was clever enough to be able to write a fic that includes all three, hehehe. XD
Allergy Warning: Contains large traces of gay sex, voyeurism and masturbation. Read at own risk.
Thanks to jennis_footie for the beta! You rock!!! *glomps*
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Iker yawns, his hand groping for his mobile phone in the dark. It's been a long, exhausting day.
If everything had gone to plan, he would now be lying in his bed at home and his mum would be bringing him hot ColaCao and ruffling his hair and telling him how proud she is of him. But everything didn't go to plan. Instead of a smooth bus drive back to Lezama, they were delayed by not one but two huge car crashes on the Basque-Aragonese motorway, which extended their drive by several hours. When they finally arrived in Lezama, cranky and exhausted from the annoyances of the traffic jam, the coach reminded the players of the training session he had scheduled for them early the following morning and urged them to spend the night in the training centre.
And thus, Iker finds himself in one of the bunk beds in Lezama's sleeping room, unable to fall asleep because Amore is snoring to his left and Jonás is still listening to music on his iPod, the pumping beats echoing through his headphones.
He is still groping for his phone, wanting to check if his alarm is still switched on and if the time is still correct (his teammates have played enough pranks on him to make regular checks a habit), but no matter how thoroughly he pokes around on his bedside table, the phone isn't there.
His first urge is to suspect a teammate of having nicked it, but then he remembers having taken a picture of himself with David in the locker room after their arrival to accompany the Twitter message of their odyssey on the Basque-Aragonese motorway, and he vaguely recalls tossing his phone into his duffel bag afterwards. And there it must be right now, enclosed securely in his locker.
Iker curses softly under his breath.
For a moment, he contemplates staying in bed. Most of his teammates have their alarms switched on anyway. It's true that Iker generally sleeps like a stone, but surely at least one of the other guys' alarms will be loud enough to pull him out of his sleep the following morning?
However, if Iker ends up sleeping through everyone's ringtones, the guys probably wouldn't wake him up with physical force either. Half of them would think he wants to sleep a bit longer, the other half would rub their hands at the prospect of him arriving late to breakfast and having to come up with an apology for the coach.
No, there clearly was no other way but to get out of bed and get his mobile.
With a sigh, he gets up and steps into his slippers before grabbing his bathrobe from the chair next to his bed. He slowly makes his way through the sleeping room, trying his best not to bump against any other beds. It would be really awkward to wake up someone and have to explain to them why he's plodding around the room in the middle of the night, waking up everyone.
When he finally closes the door of the sleeping room behind him, he lets out a deep breath. First part accomplished. Now he only has to get the key to the locker room. Hurriedly, he rushes through the corridors, grateful for the dim light of the emergency tube lights. However, when he reaches the key board where the groundskeeper usually stores the keys to most of the facilities, he finds out that one key is not where it's supposed to be: The locker room key is missing.
Damn it.
He leans against the glass door of the groundskeeper's office, resisting the urge to slam his head into it repeatedly. Where could the key be? Did the groundskeeper forget to put it back? Did he take it with him? Did someone else take it, knowing that the door to the office would generally be unlocked?
Iker exhales deeply. Well, there's only one way to find out.
He pads along the dim-lighted corridor, steps down two sets of stairs, and leaves several other corridors behind until he finally finds himself right in front of the locker room. The door is shut, but surprisingly unlocked. Iker raises an eyebrow.
He slowly presses down the doorhandle, trying not to make any noise. If he's quick and quiet enough to retrieve his phone, maybe whoever is in there wouldn't even notice him?
Strangely enough, all he sees is darkness when he pushes the door open. There is nobody there. All lockers are shut (at least the ones he can see from the door), everyone's shoes are stored neatly below the wooden benches, and everything looks exactly like they had all left it a couple of hours before. Iker takes a couple of slow steps forward. His own locker is in the other part of the L-shaped room, the part that can't be seen from the door.
Suddenly, a noise makes him stop right in his tracks. It seems to be coming from around the corner, where the rest of the lockers are, as well as the showers. Unable to resist his curiosity, Iker steps forward and carefully peeks around the corner. There is nobody there either, but there is a faint glow of light in the corridor that leads to the showers.
What the hell?
Half-amused, half-confused, Iker tiptoes past the other lockers towards the showers, racking his brain about the identity of the person who is so clean (or dirty, for that matter) that he has to take showers in the middle of the night. Of course, Iker can't hear any water running, but he figures that whoever is in there is currently soaping himself or shampooing his hair or something.
He nearly recoils when he sticks his head around the corner and realises how completely wrong his assumptions were.
At first he can't even move, is frozen with shock at the sight of what is clearly two of his teammates, completely naked, one of them bent forward, legs wide apart, the palms of his hands against the wall, the other behind him, pushing forward…
Iker gasps, his eyes wide. Holy fucking hell.
He blinks hurriedly, again and again, wondering whether he's just imagining things or whether he is really seeing what he thinks he's seeing. It seems absolutely impossible to him, but even after having blinked about twenty times, the sight doesn't change. They're still there, right in front of him.
Ander, digging his fingers into the tiles, his back bent into what must be a really painful curve, legs wide apart.
Javi, right behind him, one hand grabbing Ander's hip, the other one fisted in Ander's short hair. Fucking him. Right up the ass. Again and again, hard and fast, completely without mercy.
The mere imagination of being on the receiving end of something like this makes Iker wince with physical pain.
Has Javi completely and utterly lost his mind?
Anger flares up inside Iker. He has half a mind to step out of his hiding place, run towards them and pull Javi away before giving him a good earful about what a fucking bastard he is to treat Ander this way, to think that there's anything that could make Ander deserve being hurt and humiliated like this.
But then, just as Javi delivers another of his impossibly rough thrusts, Ander throws his head back and moans something that sounds suspiciously like "Yes, right there, Javi, right there… oh fuck yes!" followed by a groan that leaves no doubts whatsoever that Ander is actually enjoying this. More than that: He's fucking loving it.
Completely flabbergasted, Iker watches them, listens to Ander's guttural moans, to Javi's shallow gasps, to the slapping of skin against skin as Javi thrusts into Ander, and even though he's not exactly used to listening to two guys making such sounds, the sounds themselves are familiar enough, and it doesn't take long for his brain to make the connection and send a bolt of lust through his veins, right down to his crotch.
Iker bites his lip, trying to prevent the inevitable, but he knows it's futile. Despite his exhaustion from the match and his tiredness from the long bus ride, he can feel himself growing hard at the audiovisual experience, and just before his common sense deserts him completely, he clasps one hand across his mouth and swallows a groan as his other hand fumbles with his bathrobe.
When he finally manages to dig his hands into his shorts and wrap his fingers around his dick, it feels like heaven. He can't even bring himself to care that he's practically jerking off to gay porn. It isn't something he would advertise to his friends, of course, but if it can make him feel so fucking horny that he can hardly stand, or think, or even breathe, it can't be all that bad, right? Besides, aren't guys supposed to know best what other guys want?
If Ander's incoherent moans can be trusted, Javi definitely seems to know what Ander wants, even if he isn't doing much else besides thrusting his dick into Ander's ass. Iker has no clue how that can feel so good. It's not as if he's ever tried to push anything up his own ass, but he's always imagined it would be painful more than anything else. And yet, he's absolutely convinced that Ander wouldn't let Javi fuck him if it didn't feel pretty fucking great, let alone enjoy it so obviously.
In a corner of his mind, Iker wonders what it would feel like to be fucked up the ass by someone. The thought makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable, but at the same time he can't deny it intrigues him.
Pulling and tugging frantically at his dick, he watches as Javi bends forward to close his lips around a patch of skin on Ander's shoulder, pulling at it with his teeth before sucking on it until the skin is bright red. Suddenly Ander cries out, his right hand moves hurriedly down his body, and although Iker can't see what exactly Ander is doing, it's more than obvious to him, even before Javi whispers, "Fuck, yes, touch yourself for me…" against Ander's skin, and his voice is so deliciously hoarse and shaky that it makes Iker jerk himself off even more frantically. He never thought Javi could sound like that.
They don't last much longer. All of a sudden Ander groans loudly and throws his head back, and his whole body seems to be shuddering against the wall, and when Iker realises that Ander is coming, it's enough to drive him over the edge as well. Groaning into his hand, he sinks to the floor as his orgasm washes over him like a giant wave of heat, making his body jerk and convulse as he shoots his load into his shorts and all over his fingers. He can't even remember the last time that jerking himself off felt so fucking amazing.
When he finally lifts himself up from the floor, having successfully regained control over his breathing, he still feels dazed, but he knows he has to get out of here before Javi and Ander find him and ask him all kinds of embarrassing questions. So he tiptoes back to the door, trying not to make any noise, and then quickly lets himself out, closing the door behind him. His pulse is racing madly, and he can't quite tell whether it was caused by the physical strain or the knowledge that he just peeped on two of his teammates having sex and brought himself to orgasm without them noticing him at all.
He is half-way up the first set of stairs back to the sleeping room when he notices two things. Firstly, that his shorts are incredibly sticky and he should have changed before leaving the locker room. Secondly, that his mobile phone is still in his duffel bag, and his duffel bag still in his locker.
Iker rolls his eyes at himself, but somehow those two problems don't matter as much as the third one he finds himself faced with.
He wants in on the gay sex. Or, to be more precise, he wants someone else in, someone big and strong and perfect. Someone who would definitely find whatever there is to find inside him. Someone who would make him feel pretty fucking great.
But despite the fact that he knows exactly who he wants, how the hell is he supposed to make him realise that it is a damned good idea and should be tried out as soon as possible?
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Athletic Club Bilbao
Pairing: Javi Martínez/Ander Herrera, Iker Muniain/?
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: Trying to retrieve his misplaced mobile, a nightly trip to the locker room at Lezama turns into something completely unexpected.
Word Count: 2,102
A/N: Written for july_v's and my "Weekly Ander Appreciation" challenge (because Ander is awesome and deserves more fic). This week's prompts were "suck", this picture, and Javi/Ander. I was clever enough to be able to write a fic that includes all three, hehehe. XD
Allergy Warning: Contains large traces of gay sex, voyeurism and masturbation. Read at own risk.
Thanks to jennis_footie for the beta! You rock!!! *glomps*
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Iker yawns, his hand groping for his mobile phone in the dark. It's been a long, exhausting day.
If everything had gone to plan, he would now be lying in his bed at home and his mum would be bringing him hot ColaCao and ruffling his hair and telling him how proud she is of him. But everything didn't go to plan. Instead of a smooth bus drive back to Lezama, they were delayed by not one but two huge car crashes on the Basque-Aragonese motorway, which extended their drive by several hours. When they finally arrived in Lezama, cranky and exhausted from the annoyances of the traffic jam, the coach reminded the players of the training session he had scheduled for them early the following morning and urged them to spend the night in the training centre.
And thus, Iker finds himself in one of the bunk beds in Lezama's sleeping room, unable to fall asleep because Amore is snoring to his left and Jonás is still listening to music on his iPod, the pumping beats echoing through his headphones.
He is still groping for his phone, wanting to check if his alarm is still switched on and if the time is still correct (his teammates have played enough pranks on him to make regular checks a habit), but no matter how thoroughly he pokes around on his bedside table, the phone isn't there.
His first urge is to suspect a teammate of having nicked it, but then he remembers having taken a picture of himself with David in the locker room after their arrival to accompany the Twitter message of their odyssey on the Basque-Aragonese motorway, and he vaguely recalls tossing his phone into his duffel bag afterwards. And there it must be right now, enclosed securely in his locker.
Iker curses softly under his breath.
For a moment, he contemplates staying in bed. Most of his teammates have their alarms switched on anyway. It's true that Iker generally sleeps like a stone, but surely at least one of the other guys' alarms will be loud enough to pull him out of his sleep the following morning?
However, if Iker ends up sleeping through everyone's ringtones, the guys probably wouldn't wake him up with physical force either. Half of them would think he wants to sleep a bit longer, the other half would rub their hands at the prospect of him arriving late to breakfast and having to come up with an apology for the coach.
No, there clearly was no other way but to get out of bed and get his mobile.
With a sigh, he gets up and steps into his slippers before grabbing his bathrobe from the chair next to his bed. He slowly makes his way through the sleeping room, trying his best not to bump against any other beds. It would be really awkward to wake up someone and have to explain to them why he's plodding around the room in the middle of the night, waking up everyone.
When he finally closes the door of the sleeping room behind him, he lets out a deep breath. First part accomplished. Now he only has to get the key to the locker room. Hurriedly, he rushes through the corridors, grateful for the dim light of the emergency tube lights. However, when he reaches the key board where the groundskeeper usually stores the keys to most of the facilities, he finds out that one key is not where it's supposed to be: The locker room key is missing.
Damn it.
He leans against the glass door of the groundskeeper's office, resisting the urge to slam his head into it repeatedly. Where could the key be? Did the groundskeeper forget to put it back? Did he take it with him? Did someone else take it, knowing that the door to the office would generally be unlocked?
Iker exhales deeply. Well, there's only one way to find out.
He pads along the dim-lighted corridor, steps down two sets of stairs, and leaves several other corridors behind until he finally finds himself right in front of the locker room. The door is shut, but surprisingly unlocked. Iker raises an eyebrow.
He slowly presses down the doorhandle, trying not to make any noise. If he's quick and quiet enough to retrieve his phone, maybe whoever is in there wouldn't even notice him?
Strangely enough, all he sees is darkness when he pushes the door open. There is nobody there. All lockers are shut (at least the ones he can see from the door), everyone's shoes are stored neatly below the wooden benches, and everything looks exactly like they had all left it a couple of hours before. Iker takes a couple of slow steps forward. His own locker is in the other part of the L-shaped room, the part that can't be seen from the door.
Suddenly, a noise makes him stop right in his tracks. It seems to be coming from around the corner, where the rest of the lockers are, as well as the showers. Unable to resist his curiosity, Iker steps forward and carefully peeks around the corner. There is nobody there either, but there is a faint glow of light in the corridor that leads to the showers.
What the hell?
Half-amused, half-confused, Iker tiptoes past the other lockers towards the showers, racking his brain about the identity of the person who is so clean (or dirty, for that matter) that he has to take showers in the middle of the night. Of course, Iker can't hear any water running, but he figures that whoever is in there is currently soaping himself or shampooing his hair or something.
He nearly recoils when he sticks his head around the corner and realises how completely wrong his assumptions were.
At first he can't even move, is frozen with shock at the sight of what is clearly two of his teammates, completely naked, one of them bent forward, legs wide apart, the palms of his hands against the wall, the other behind him, pushing forward…
Iker gasps, his eyes wide. Holy fucking hell.
He blinks hurriedly, again and again, wondering whether he's just imagining things or whether he is really seeing what he thinks he's seeing. It seems absolutely impossible to him, but even after having blinked about twenty times, the sight doesn't change. They're still there, right in front of him.
Ander, digging his fingers into the tiles, his back bent into what must be a really painful curve, legs wide apart.
Javi, right behind him, one hand grabbing Ander's hip, the other one fisted in Ander's short hair. Fucking him. Right up the ass. Again and again, hard and fast, completely without mercy.
The mere imagination of being on the receiving end of something like this makes Iker wince with physical pain.
Has Javi completely and utterly lost his mind?
Anger flares up inside Iker. He has half a mind to step out of his hiding place, run towards them and pull Javi away before giving him a good earful about what a fucking bastard he is to treat Ander this way, to think that there's anything that could make Ander deserve being hurt and humiliated like this.
But then, just as Javi delivers another of his impossibly rough thrusts, Ander throws his head back and moans something that sounds suspiciously like "Yes, right there, Javi, right there… oh fuck yes!" followed by a groan that leaves no doubts whatsoever that Ander is actually enjoying this. More than that: He's fucking loving it.
Completely flabbergasted, Iker watches them, listens to Ander's guttural moans, to Javi's shallow gasps, to the slapping of skin against skin as Javi thrusts into Ander, and even though he's not exactly used to listening to two guys making such sounds, the sounds themselves are familiar enough, and it doesn't take long for his brain to make the connection and send a bolt of lust through his veins, right down to his crotch.
Iker bites his lip, trying to prevent the inevitable, but he knows it's futile. Despite his exhaustion from the match and his tiredness from the long bus ride, he can feel himself growing hard at the audiovisual experience, and just before his common sense deserts him completely, he clasps one hand across his mouth and swallows a groan as his other hand fumbles with his bathrobe.
When he finally manages to dig his hands into his shorts and wrap his fingers around his dick, it feels like heaven. He can't even bring himself to care that he's practically jerking off to gay porn. It isn't something he would advertise to his friends, of course, but if it can make him feel so fucking horny that he can hardly stand, or think, or even breathe, it can't be all that bad, right? Besides, aren't guys supposed to know best what other guys want?
If Ander's incoherent moans can be trusted, Javi definitely seems to know what Ander wants, even if he isn't doing much else besides thrusting his dick into Ander's ass. Iker has no clue how that can feel so good. It's not as if he's ever tried to push anything up his own ass, but he's always imagined it would be painful more than anything else. And yet, he's absolutely convinced that Ander wouldn't let Javi fuck him if it didn't feel pretty fucking great, let alone enjoy it so obviously.
In a corner of his mind, Iker wonders what it would feel like to be fucked up the ass by someone. The thought makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable, but at the same time he can't deny it intrigues him.
Pulling and tugging frantically at his dick, he watches as Javi bends forward to close his lips around a patch of skin on Ander's shoulder, pulling at it with his teeth before sucking on it until the skin is bright red. Suddenly Ander cries out, his right hand moves hurriedly down his body, and although Iker can't see what exactly Ander is doing, it's more than obvious to him, even before Javi whispers, "Fuck, yes, touch yourself for me…" against Ander's skin, and his voice is so deliciously hoarse and shaky that it makes Iker jerk himself off even more frantically. He never thought Javi could sound like that.
They don't last much longer. All of a sudden Ander groans loudly and throws his head back, and his whole body seems to be shuddering against the wall, and when Iker realises that Ander is coming, it's enough to drive him over the edge as well. Groaning into his hand, he sinks to the floor as his orgasm washes over him like a giant wave of heat, making his body jerk and convulse as he shoots his load into his shorts and all over his fingers. He can't even remember the last time that jerking himself off felt so fucking amazing.
When he finally lifts himself up from the floor, having successfully regained control over his breathing, he still feels dazed, but he knows he has to get out of here before Javi and Ander find him and ask him all kinds of embarrassing questions. So he tiptoes back to the door, trying not to make any noise, and then quickly lets himself out, closing the door behind him. His pulse is racing madly, and he can't quite tell whether it was caused by the physical strain or the knowledge that he just peeped on two of his teammates having sex and brought himself to orgasm without them noticing him at all.
He is half-way up the first set of stairs back to the sleeping room when he notices two things. Firstly, that his shorts are incredibly sticky and he should have changed before leaving the locker room. Secondly, that his mobile phone is still in his duffel bag, and his duffel bag still in his locker.
Iker rolls his eyes at himself, but somehow those two problems don't matter as much as the third one he finds himself faced with.
He wants in on the gay sex. Or, to be more precise, he wants someone else in, someone big and strong and perfect. Someone who would definitely find whatever there is to find inside him. Someone who would make him feel pretty fucking great.
But despite the fact that he knows exactly who he wants, how the hell is he supposed to make him realise that it is a damned good idea and should be tried out as soon as possible?