We're slaves to the DJ and out of control. Oneshot.
Title: We're slaves to the DJ and out of control (taken from this song.)
Pairing: Miguel Torres/Rubén de la Red/Esteban Granero
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3229
Disclaimer: I eat, I pray, I love and I make stories up.
dedication: for july_v. I believe we were in need of some Real rehab (as in vent!fic leading to a katharsis preferably through steamy shiny things) after some game in September ... euh. Sorry for taking so long. I hope you still like it! "-.-
Summary: semi-PWP, therefore summarizing it is giving me a hard time.
We're slaves to the DJ and out of control
It had started out in a way these things always seemed to start out. There had been a game, then a winner and a loser. It was one of these nights in which it didn't even matter who was on which side, they had lost too many times for that and still won just as many, had changed sides and remained there or had changed back again, they had faded out and struggled to get in. They were just as different as they were alike, even more so tonight. It had started out the way these things always seemed to start out.
#
By the time Miguel arrived, Esteban couldn't even remember the name of the establishment anymore. Rubén had picked it and Miguel had known it, therefore Esteban had seen no point in pleading to go somewhere else. He trusted his friends's taste too much for that (as they had never disappointed him when it came to this, before). And tonight was no different.
Esteban caught a glimpse of Miguel slowly working his way down the stairs, unhurriedly moving around people (the part of the club they were lounging in wasn't as packed as Esteban would have expected it to be at this time of the night, but Rubén had explained to him with a calm wink that this was no space to be entered by whoever liked to enter it, a glint in his eyes that had Esteban blushing and looking away and downing some more of his drink immediately, not missing the promise in Rubén's voice, the unmistakeable foreshadowing of what was to come). The defender indeed seemed to be familiar with their whereabouts, nodding curtly towards a barkeeper or a dancer here and there, flashing some of them a grin (a grin which had the same effect on Esteban as Rubén's wink earlier had had).
The strobelights were flashing stark white light now, broken and mirrored and reflecting in Miguel's hair as he eventually turned his steps towards them. Esteban wasn't sure why, but only when he realized that Miguel was indeed crossing the floor now with the only intention of getting to them, a flash at times, nothing but a dark shape the next, he felt himself letting his breath out again. The beat of the night was still drumming in his guts; Rubén's fingers were still digging into the sensitive skin beneath his waistband, searching, prodding, exploring what they knew by heart already, being the reason for Esteban not remembering anything before they had entered this club, had fallen comfortably into their seats. There was nothing at all than the reminders of sweet liquor still lingering in the far corners of his mouth, nothing but the feeling of sitting in Rubén's lap, his fingers digging into Esteban's skin, pushing into him only later when the alcohol had already made the younger man feel warm and comfortable, nothing but lights flashing in front of his eyes and, above all, the sensation of a moist patch of skin on the back of his neck, right where Rubén had breathed him in for the last half an hour. Esteban didn't feel like merely existing anymore - he was well past that. For a particular moment, he felt alive, really.
It didn't take Miguel long to get over to them, even though the dancefloor area was, in contrast to where he and Rubén were sitting, crammed with people, the defender still managed to kept moving, avoiding foreign bodies that he wanted to avoid, and almost swiftly cutting through peers of people as if they weren't even there at all.
He didn't greet them with a nod as his eyes, eyes fixed on Rubén all the time since he had spotted him sitting in his lounger when he was still atop of the stairs, quickly scanned Esteban over before they returned back to Rubén's face.
"You got him drunk already?" Miguel smirked, sitting down next to Rubén, his thighs brushing Esteban's curtly and deliberately, bringing a hand to his hair. He allowed Rubén to shake his head, though, brushing Esteban's shoulder with his cheek as he did so.
"First of all, I didn't. Second, it's not my fault that you're always late and third ... he's not drunk. Only a little loosened up, you know?"
Esteban squeezed his eyes shut for how high Miguel's eyebrows shot up, not knowing whether to blush or look away or what to do at all (to be honest, he never quite knew what to do when thrown into the dynamics of both of them, Rubén and Miguel combined). He didn't open them again for a while, soaking in the dimmed lights still flashing even now before his inner eye, soaking in the sound Miguel's tongue licked into Rubén's mouth, a sound so close to him and yet sounding as far away as it could have been. He knew better than to open his eyes and look at them in that very moment, even though he could already feel the warmth radiating from Miguel's body so close to his own. This was their kiss, not his (not his for the taking, not even his for looking upon it). Even though he felt the alcohol, the atmosphere, their presence working on his body, he was not foolish enough to forget about that.
"Loosened up, yeah...?"
It seemingly took an eternity and a half for Esteban to process the words into the world behind his closed eyes but when he felt a hand, Miguel's hand, despite everything he knew the shape and feel of it quite well by now, trailing down his forehead, he realized even between all of these baselines filling up his ears, all of these lights, all of these feelings filling him up, that the words were indeed addressed at him.
Opening his eyes, he found himself confronted with both of their stares, both of their faces, strobelight reflecting in their hair in the same way, the only difference between them in this moment only the reason behind their equally curious gaze, Miguel's curious because he was trying to read the answer from Esteban's shy blushing, Rubén's stare curious because he wanted to see Esteban's reaction to it.
Suddenly it felt as if all the strokes Rubén's fingers had burned into his flesh earlier, into him, had been lit up on fire anew, burning even hotter than his cheeks fully blushing now, making it unable for him to respond to Miguel in any way, let alone answer his gaze. Esteban would never know that this was exactly the reaction both of them had anticipated.
"You wanna go dance with us, Esteban, huh?" He was once again addressed by the defender whose face was still so close, whose lips were parted now and Esteban didn't even have the time to wonder and worry about the fact that they had to be too attention attracking for their own good right there as they were, three man put together so perfectly fitting into a triangle, before suddenly Miguel's lips were on his own for only the merest second, only a second and yet Esteban could feel how Rubén's body tensed underneath and behind him, tight with awareness now, not with lust as it had been earlier, as it still was. But as swiftly as Miguel had leaned in he was gone again, grasping one of Rubén's hands now, the one that had been resting against Esteban's stomach and not between the fabric of their jeans and tugged at it. "'Cause you want to get down there with us, don't you? ... Dance with me, pretty, if you got him loosened up tonight, I hope so are you..."
Esteban turned his head only in time to see the remains of a grin tugging at the corners of Rubén's mouth, something wicked painting over the stern glance of his eyes in a fleeting moment. He knew then and there, that tonight would be one of these nights.
#
It proceeded the way it always proceeded. Esteban would find himself somewhere where he had never thought himself possible to end up at, in a situation he had never allowed his subconscious to even dream of; somehow he would always find himself savely tugged between Rubén's familiar, lean figure and Miguel's broad, strong body. It wasn't the alcohol dragging him down there, even though he loved to try and tell himself so in the mornings after, when everything that had made sense the hours before fell apart again. There was something else, something he managed to keep down low and fade out most of the times, but that would find a way to the surface whenever he was around the other two men. It wasn't new to Esteban that he was lost to Rubén, he had known that all along. It suprised him time and time again, though, how easily he was lost to Miguel, as well, despite all of his will. It proceeded the way it alway proceeded, tonight was no exception.
#
Esteban didn't feel all eyes on him (two pairs making an exception, one searing into the flesh of his neck, soaking up the sweat there, the other one directed at his crotch, at the spot where hips met hips, denim rubbed against denim, fabric darkened against fabric as Miguel grew harder against Esteban). He was floating. He didn't care about whether they were being observed by anybody else or not, what did it matter? He was floating. They were floating, out of touch, out of reach, just the three of them in these moments. There was only Rubén's hard breathing into the back of his neck, only Miguel's hands, burning like ice on Esteban's skin as he reached for the zipper of Esteban's jeans, opening it slowly. He was floating. His head didn’t even feel like spinning all that much, with pulsing flares of white dancing before his closed eyes, flares sharpening at the edges with every touch of unfamiliar and yet so well-known skin on his skin, with the touch of digging fingers, dragging knuckles, sharp nails and, the sweetest contrast to all of that, soft lips, softening the cool sensation, keeping him floating.
Letting his head sink against Miguel's shoulder eventually, Esteban breathed out a moan of pure pleasure when he felt how his pants were pushed down from his hips, not sliding down but hanging low enough now for his their purpose. He could feel Miguel and Rubén both shifting that little bit closer to him that made him veiled from everyone else's view, such a private thing between them in the middle of a moving and grinding dancefloor. The warmth spread throughout is body, starting in his belly (the alcohol) and quickly working its way up and down from there one (the promise of sex sticking to Miguel's sweaty nape in a thin layer of sweat).
Rubén's nimble fingers were on him again, right there, teasing, pressing the fire back into his flesh, rubbing it out, making it spread. But this time, Esteban did also feel the fabric of Rubén's jeans rubbing against his bare thighs, felt the hardness there, allowed himself to revel in pushing back against it for a moment. He had no idea whether he was in tune with the music, whether they were still moving to the beat anymore, but he couldn't get himself to care. Not at all. None of them could.
#
They never could. They never even tried to care about anything but them in these moments, too far gone, too long having given in to the infinite and exquisite sensation that was Esteban Granero, freed of all his usual constant worrying and restrains, having submitted himself to the power and the will of the music, the pulse of the crowd, the strength of their bodies, the purpose of their hands. It would have taken more than a noble man’s will-power to forsake an invitation brought to them as freely as this one was - and none of them had ever even considered himself a noble man. One of them was more like the one laying traps, watching people fall into those, revelling in the feeling of having them at their mercy completely, disappearing into the night to never come back as soon as he had been given what he wanted. The other one didn’t even need to make use of any such things, was only in need of disappearing into the dark to have people following him there on his heels immediately, attracting attention he wasn’t sure of anymore that he wanted it. What he was sure of was that his feelings for Esteban exceeded want, leading to him having brought him into this weird limbo of a relationship of three where there was hardly space for the two of them. He had lead the way and Esteban had followed him, now writhing between them, unaware of the instinctive movements his body followed, unaware of everything but the pleasure the both of them made him feel.
It was exactly this knowledge which had Rubén reluctantly letting go of the soft and warm flesh of Esteban’s butt to quickly undo his own zipper, his mouth never leaving Esteban’s neck as he did so, tasting the salt and the want and the fear and the excitement lingering there with every swipe of his tongue, quickly freeing himself and the first of many unheard moans, going under in the seemingly increasing loudness and starkness of the music, leaving his throat for the feeling of his own dick being met by the thick fabric of denim, the tentative first promise of warm muscles surrounding it. It was exactly the same knowledge which had Miguel’s fingers retreating before he went in for the kill, steadying Esteban's hips now instead of tending to the spot where Esteban was rubbing and bumping against the fabric of Miguel's jeans, against his own dick straining underneath. The one was the one for laying out traps, the other one didn't have to, and even if their roles were reversed from time to time, they understood each other enough to never risk crossing a line, making a move, having a go without the other one's consent. It was exactly this knowledge that had Miguel leaning down to brush his lips against Esteban's temple, his jawline, waiting for the younger one to catch the bait and open his mouth for Miguel willingly so that he could kiss him, for the second time that night. He tried his best to keep the apology, the irritation out of his kiss, as he always did.
#
Esteban's knees felt weak to the point where the thought whether the only thing that kept him standing, dancing, swaying at least, was the tight vice of Rubén's and Miguel's bodies briefly crossed his mind, quickly extinct by the unforgiving pulse of the beat reverberating in his mind.
"So delicious...," Miguel moaned into his mouth, in a way that made Esteban immediately aware of the fact that these words were not for him. In the corner of his eyes he caught Rubén's hand, the one that was not busy with rubbing himself all along Esteban's exposed butt, the one that was not teasing his crack, searching and finding Miguel's cheek, cupping it, squeezing it. Esteban squeezed his eyes shut even more. The flares were dancing a wicked dance before his eyes now, bordering on feverish imaginations.
"God, the things you do to him ... you make him delirious, do you know that? I can taste it. He tastes like fever... Only for you ..."
There was no lube. There never was. Not when they were together like this, raw and rushed and crushed, crushing against each other and each other alone, oblivious to the whole dancefloor being packed, oblivious to everything but themselves, floating, out of this world, out of touch, out of control. Esteban could feel the hot, hard and dry sensation that was Rubén pressing against the exposed skin on his back where his shirt was riding up. He felt Rubén leaking against him, sticky on skin, slicking his skin only that much that both of them needed (in these moments, when both of them were floating, Esteban was and so was Rubén).
Unexpectedly, Miguel deepened the kiss, his tongue suddenly digging even deeper into Esteban's mouth, causing the youngest man to gasp for the almost shocking pleasure.
"Only for you...," he whispered into Miguel's mouth, into the space between his parted lips which kept him floating, again not addressing the man whose teeth were bruising his lips, but Rubén. It was an unnecessary reaffirmation - and still he was rewarded with Rubén slowly entering him, pushing into him in a steady rhythmn that was matching the beat filling up the tiny spaces left between them (even though Esteban was far too gone to notice), carving space and forcing a moan out of Esteban's throat which he desperately tried to hide in the small of Miguel's shoulder, but which was conveyed to Rubén through the sympathetic glow in Miguel's eyes. It was a matter of two, maybe three seconds in which they fell into sync perfectly, the true nature of what bound them together so openly out in the public and yet going unnoticed by a club crammed with people all around them, a single precious moment with Esteban clinging to a rock, clinging to Miguel who was staring at Rubén, knowing that Rubén looked back at him and only him in that second, burried safely in Esteban's warmth. It was only a second and then the moment splintered with Esteban falling apart between them, the overloading emotions, the steady build-up that had been lasting the entire night taking their toll on him as he came, strangely secret and silent in the feeble protection of Miguel's fist.
#
It ended the way these things always ended. The only one still sober had taken them home, only halfway needing to lead them to his bedroom as both of them knew the way by heart, one of them ever since and the other one by now. They had taken their time in stripping down to nothing, completely this time, alcohol and hungry eyes and hands slowing their movements down, lacking the hurry of needing to get somewhere now. And hidden under the covers of soft white sheets, it had been Esteban who fell asleep first. Feeling Rubén's body gently rocking against his own, not demanding anything from him now, only rocking out Miguel's thrusts as gently as he could, savouring all of their momentum for himself and only passing on the movement to Esteban in a much lighter way, petted to sleep by Rubén's gentle hands, it was always Esteban who gave in to sleep first. The rocking motion, Rubén's breath against the shell of his ear a husky lullaby, the warmth and love seeping from both of his friends bodies under his skin did this to him. He fell asleep, feeling completely satisfied, completely at peace with the world for the night, completely taken by affection, complete.It ended the way these things always ended.
+ ... does all of this even make sense? ... I hope it does. I apologize if it doesn't.
+ in case you didn't click on the link above, this fic was inspired by She Wants Revenges' "Out of control"
+ feedback would be lovely, but is not mandatory, of course. but if you've liked it and have some spare seconds left ... I'm really happy to hear from anyone who has read this, be it elaborate feedback or incoherent flailing ... ;)
Pairing: Miguel Torres/Rubén de la Red/Esteban Granero
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 3229
Disclaimer: I eat, I pray, I love and I make stories up.
dedication: for july_v. I believe we were in need of some Real rehab (as in vent!fic leading to a katharsis preferably through steamy shiny things) after some game in September ... euh. Sorry for taking so long. I hope you still like it! "-.-
Summary: semi-PWP, therefore summarizing it is giving me a hard time.
We're slaves to the DJ and out of control
It had started out in a way these things always seemed to start out. There had been a game, then a winner and a loser. It was one of these nights in which it didn't even matter who was on which side, they had lost too many times for that and still won just as many, had changed sides and remained there or had changed back again, they had faded out and struggled to get in. They were just as different as they were alike, even more so tonight. It had started out the way these things always seemed to start out.
#
By the time Miguel arrived, Esteban couldn't even remember the name of the establishment anymore. Rubén had picked it and Miguel had known it, therefore Esteban had seen no point in pleading to go somewhere else. He trusted his friends's taste too much for that (as they had never disappointed him when it came to this, before). And tonight was no different.
Esteban caught a glimpse of Miguel slowly working his way down the stairs, unhurriedly moving around people (the part of the club they were lounging in wasn't as packed as Esteban would have expected it to be at this time of the night, but Rubén had explained to him with a calm wink that this was no space to be entered by whoever liked to enter it, a glint in his eyes that had Esteban blushing and looking away and downing some more of his drink immediately, not missing the promise in Rubén's voice, the unmistakeable foreshadowing of what was to come). The defender indeed seemed to be familiar with their whereabouts, nodding curtly towards a barkeeper or a dancer here and there, flashing some of them a grin (a grin which had the same effect on Esteban as Rubén's wink earlier had had).
The strobelights were flashing stark white light now, broken and mirrored and reflecting in Miguel's hair as he eventually turned his steps towards them. Esteban wasn't sure why, but only when he realized that Miguel was indeed crossing the floor now with the only intention of getting to them, a flash at times, nothing but a dark shape the next, he felt himself letting his breath out again. The beat of the night was still drumming in his guts; Rubén's fingers were still digging into the sensitive skin beneath his waistband, searching, prodding, exploring what they knew by heart already, being the reason for Esteban not remembering anything before they had entered this club, had fallen comfortably into their seats. There was nothing at all than the reminders of sweet liquor still lingering in the far corners of his mouth, nothing but the feeling of sitting in Rubén's lap, his fingers digging into Esteban's skin, pushing into him only later when the alcohol had already made the younger man feel warm and comfortable, nothing but lights flashing in front of his eyes and, above all, the sensation of a moist patch of skin on the back of his neck, right where Rubén had breathed him in for the last half an hour. Esteban didn't feel like merely existing anymore - he was well past that. For a particular moment, he felt alive, really.
It didn't take Miguel long to get over to them, even though the dancefloor area was, in contrast to where he and Rubén were sitting, crammed with people, the defender still managed to kept moving, avoiding foreign bodies that he wanted to avoid, and almost swiftly cutting through peers of people as if they weren't even there at all.
He didn't greet them with a nod as his eyes, eyes fixed on Rubén all the time since he had spotted him sitting in his lounger when he was still atop of the stairs, quickly scanned Esteban over before they returned back to Rubén's face.
"You got him drunk already?" Miguel smirked, sitting down next to Rubén, his thighs brushing Esteban's curtly and deliberately, bringing a hand to his hair. He allowed Rubén to shake his head, though, brushing Esteban's shoulder with his cheek as he did so.
"First of all, I didn't. Second, it's not my fault that you're always late and third ... he's not drunk. Only a little loosened up, you know?"
Esteban squeezed his eyes shut for how high Miguel's eyebrows shot up, not knowing whether to blush or look away or what to do at all (to be honest, he never quite knew what to do when thrown into the dynamics of both of them, Rubén and Miguel combined). He didn't open them again for a while, soaking in the dimmed lights still flashing even now before his inner eye, soaking in the sound Miguel's tongue licked into Rubén's mouth, a sound so close to him and yet sounding as far away as it could have been. He knew better than to open his eyes and look at them in that very moment, even though he could already feel the warmth radiating from Miguel's body so close to his own. This was their kiss, not his (not his for the taking, not even his for looking upon it). Even though he felt the alcohol, the atmosphere, their presence working on his body, he was not foolish enough to forget about that.
"Loosened up, yeah...?"
It seemingly took an eternity and a half for Esteban to process the words into the world behind his closed eyes but when he felt a hand, Miguel's hand, despite everything he knew the shape and feel of it quite well by now, trailing down his forehead, he realized even between all of these baselines filling up his ears, all of these lights, all of these feelings filling him up, that the words were indeed addressed at him.
Opening his eyes, he found himself confronted with both of their stares, both of their faces, strobelight reflecting in their hair in the same way, the only difference between them in this moment only the reason behind their equally curious gaze, Miguel's curious because he was trying to read the answer from Esteban's shy blushing, Rubén's stare curious because he wanted to see Esteban's reaction to it.
Suddenly it felt as if all the strokes Rubén's fingers had burned into his flesh earlier, into him, had been lit up on fire anew, burning even hotter than his cheeks fully blushing now, making it unable for him to respond to Miguel in any way, let alone answer his gaze. Esteban would never know that this was exactly the reaction both of them had anticipated.
"You wanna go dance with us, Esteban, huh?" He was once again addressed by the defender whose face was still so close, whose lips were parted now and Esteban didn't even have the time to wonder and worry about the fact that they had to be too attention attracking for their own good right there as they were, three man put together so perfectly fitting into a triangle, before suddenly Miguel's lips were on his own for only the merest second, only a second and yet Esteban could feel how Rubén's body tensed underneath and behind him, tight with awareness now, not with lust as it had been earlier, as it still was. But as swiftly as Miguel had leaned in he was gone again, grasping one of Rubén's hands now, the one that had been resting against Esteban's stomach and not between the fabric of their jeans and tugged at it. "'Cause you want to get down there with us, don't you? ... Dance with me, pretty, if you got him loosened up tonight, I hope so are you..."
Esteban turned his head only in time to see the remains of a grin tugging at the corners of Rubén's mouth, something wicked painting over the stern glance of his eyes in a fleeting moment. He knew then and there, that tonight would be one of these nights.
#
It proceeded the way it always proceeded. Esteban would find himself somewhere where he had never thought himself possible to end up at, in a situation he had never allowed his subconscious to even dream of; somehow he would always find himself savely tugged between Rubén's familiar, lean figure and Miguel's broad, strong body. It wasn't the alcohol dragging him down there, even though he loved to try and tell himself so in the mornings after, when everything that had made sense the hours before fell apart again. There was something else, something he managed to keep down low and fade out most of the times, but that would find a way to the surface whenever he was around the other two men. It wasn't new to Esteban that he was lost to Rubén, he had known that all along. It suprised him time and time again, though, how easily he was lost to Miguel, as well, despite all of his will. It proceeded the way it alway proceeded, tonight was no exception.
#
Esteban didn't feel all eyes on him (two pairs making an exception, one searing into the flesh of his neck, soaking up the sweat there, the other one directed at his crotch, at the spot where hips met hips, denim rubbed against denim, fabric darkened against fabric as Miguel grew harder against Esteban). He was floating. He didn't care about whether they were being observed by anybody else or not, what did it matter? He was floating. They were floating, out of touch, out of reach, just the three of them in these moments. There was only Rubén's hard breathing into the back of his neck, only Miguel's hands, burning like ice on Esteban's skin as he reached for the zipper of Esteban's jeans, opening it slowly. He was floating. His head didn’t even feel like spinning all that much, with pulsing flares of white dancing before his closed eyes, flares sharpening at the edges with every touch of unfamiliar and yet so well-known skin on his skin, with the touch of digging fingers, dragging knuckles, sharp nails and, the sweetest contrast to all of that, soft lips, softening the cool sensation, keeping him floating.
Letting his head sink against Miguel's shoulder eventually, Esteban breathed out a moan of pure pleasure when he felt how his pants were pushed down from his hips, not sliding down but hanging low enough now for his their purpose. He could feel Miguel and Rubén both shifting that little bit closer to him that made him veiled from everyone else's view, such a private thing between them in the middle of a moving and grinding dancefloor. The warmth spread throughout is body, starting in his belly (the alcohol) and quickly working its way up and down from there one (the promise of sex sticking to Miguel's sweaty nape in a thin layer of sweat).
Rubén's nimble fingers were on him again, right there, teasing, pressing the fire back into his flesh, rubbing it out, making it spread. But this time, Esteban did also feel the fabric of Rubén's jeans rubbing against his bare thighs, felt the hardness there, allowed himself to revel in pushing back against it for a moment. He had no idea whether he was in tune with the music, whether they were still moving to the beat anymore, but he couldn't get himself to care. Not at all. None of them could.
#
They never could. They never even tried to care about anything but them in these moments, too far gone, too long having given in to the infinite and exquisite sensation that was Esteban Granero, freed of all his usual constant worrying and restrains, having submitted himself to the power and the will of the music, the pulse of the crowd, the strength of their bodies, the purpose of their hands. It would have taken more than a noble man’s will-power to forsake an invitation brought to them as freely as this one was - and none of them had ever even considered himself a noble man. One of them was more like the one laying traps, watching people fall into those, revelling in the feeling of having them at their mercy completely, disappearing into the night to never come back as soon as he had been given what he wanted. The other one didn’t even need to make use of any such things, was only in need of disappearing into the dark to have people following him there on his heels immediately, attracting attention he wasn’t sure of anymore that he wanted it. What he was sure of was that his feelings for Esteban exceeded want, leading to him having brought him into this weird limbo of a relationship of three where there was hardly space for the two of them. He had lead the way and Esteban had followed him, now writhing between them, unaware of the instinctive movements his body followed, unaware of everything but the pleasure the both of them made him feel.
It was exactly this knowledge which had Rubén reluctantly letting go of the soft and warm flesh of Esteban’s butt to quickly undo his own zipper, his mouth never leaving Esteban’s neck as he did so, tasting the salt and the want and the fear and the excitement lingering there with every swipe of his tongue, quickly freeing himself and the first of many unheard moans, going under in the seemingly increasing loudness and starkness of the music, leaving his throat for the feeling of his own dick being met by the thick fabric of denim, the tentative first promise of warm muscles surrounding it. It was exactly the same knowledge which had Miguel’s fingers retreating before he went in for the kill, steadying Esteban's hips now instead of tending to the spot where Esteban was rubbing and bumping against the fabric of Miguel's jeans, against his own dick straining underneath. The one was the one for laying out traps, the other one didn't have to, and even if their roles were reversed from time to time, they understood each other enough to never risk crossing a line, making a move, having a go without the other one's consent. It was exactly this knowledge that had Miguel leaning down to brush his lips against Esteban's temple, his jawline, waiting for the younger one to catch the bait and open his mouth for Miguel willingly so that he could kiss him, for the second time that night. He tried his best to keep the apology, the irritation out of his kiss, as he always did.
#
Esteban's knees felt weak to the point where the thought whether the only thing that kept him standing, dancing, swaying at least, was the tight vice of Rubén's and Miguel's bodies briefly crossed his mind, quickly extinct by the unforgiving pulse of the beat reverberating in his mind.
"So delicious...," Miguel moaned into his mouth, in a way that made Esteban immediately aware of the fact that these words were not for him. In the corner of his eyes he caught Rubén's hand, the one that was not busy with rubbing himself all along Esteban's exposed butt, the one that was not teasing his crack, searching and finding Miguel's cheek, cupping it, squeezing it. Esteban squeezed his eyes shut even more. The flares were dancing a wicked dance before his eyes now, bordering on feverish imaginations.
"God, the things you do to him ... you make him delirious, do you know that? I can taste it. He tastes like fever... Only for you ..."
There was no lube. There never was. Not when they were together like this, raw and rushed and crushed, crushing against each other and each other alone, oblivious to the whole dancefloor being packed, oblivious to everything but themselves, floating, out of this world, out of touch, out of control. Esteban could feel the hot, hard and dry sensation that was Rubén pressing against the exposed skin on his back where his shirt was riding up. He felt Rubén leaking against him, sticky on skin, slicking his skin only that much that both of them needed (in these moments, when both of them were floating, Esteban was and so was Rubén).
Unexpectedly, Miguel deepened the kiss, his tongue suddenly digging even deeper into Esteban's mouth, causing the youngest man to gasp for the almost shocking pleasure.
"Only for you...," he whispered into Miguel's mouth, into the space between his parted lips which kept him floating, again not addressing the man whose teeth were bruising his lips, but Rubén. It was an unnecessary reaffirmation - and still he was rewarded with Rubén slowly entering him, pushing into him in a steady rhythmn that was matching the beat filling up the tiny spaces left between them (even though Esteban was far too gone to notice), carving space and forcing a moan out of Esteban's throat which he desperately tried to hide in the small of Miguel's shoulder, but which was conveyed to Rubén through the sympathetic glow in Miguel's eyes. It was a matter of two, maybe three seconds in which they fell into sync perfectly, the true nature of what bound them together so openly out in the public and yet going unnoticed by a club crammed with people all around them, a single precious moment with Esteban clinging to a rock, clinging to Miguel who was staring at Rubén, knowing that Rubén looked back at him and only him in that second, burried safely in Esteban's warmth. It was only a second and then the moment splintered with Esteban falling apart between them, the overloading emotions, the steady build-up that had been lasting the entire night taking their toll on him as he came, strangely secret and silent in the feeble protection of Miguel's fist.
#
It ended the way these things always ended. The only one still sober had taken them home, only halfway needing to lead them to his bedroom as both of them knew the way by heart, one of them ever since and the other one by now. They had taken their time in stripping down to nothing, completely this time, alcohol and hungry eyes and hands slowing their movements down, lacking the hurry of needing to get somewhere now. And hidden under the covers of soft white sheets, it had been Esteban who fell asleep first. Feeling Rubén's body gently rocking against his own, not demanding anything from him now, only rocking out Miguel's thrusts as gently as he could, savouring all of their momentum for himself and only passing on the movement to Esteban in a much lighter way, petted to sleep by Rubén's gentle hands, it was always Esteban who gave in to sleep first. The rocking motion, Rubén's breath against the shell of his ear a husky lullaby, the warmth and love seeping from both of his friends bodies under his skin did this to him. He fell asleep, feeling completely satisfied, completely at peace with the world for the night, completely taken by affection, complete.It ended the way these things always ended.
+ ... does all of this even make sense? ... I hope it does. I apologize if it doesn't.
+ in case you didn't click on the link above, this fic was inspired by She Wants Revenges' "Out of control"
+ feedback would be lovely, but is not mandatory, of course. but if you've liked it and have some spare seconds left ... I'm really happy to hear from anyone who has read this, be it elaborate feedback or incoherent flailing ... ;)