[RPF] Nice eyes, wanna fuck? (Marchisio/Borriello)
Titolo: Nice eyes, wanna fuck?
Fandom: RPF Football
Characters/Pairing: Claudio Marchisio/Marco Borriello, hints Marchisio/Del Piero
Rating: R
Wordcount: 648 (fidipu)
Warnings: slash, OMGJUVENTUS, OMGBORRIELLO.
A/Notes: Oh, boys. *rolleyes*
- (also, written as a branch of the footieforest.)
- (I entirely blame that pretty gif for this one, FYI.)
Disclaimer: Pretty lies to believe in.
©
~ Nice eyes, wanna fuck?
He shoves you into the nearest wall and shuts the door closed behind his back, and you don’t really know how you manage to keep yourself from groaning, unimpressed, because, really? You could use less clichés in your life.
His hands, however, at least are nothing like some stereotyped, perfect work of God. They’re too big, too hot on your almost freezing skin, and his fingers are calloused, not nearly quick enough while pushing your shorts all the way down to your knees.
You moan softly as Marco’s lips find the most sensitive spot on your neck, and you can feel him grin a bit and then push his hips against yours and fuck. He’s not as skinny as you are, your bones stick out everywhere while he’s all rounded, tan muscles and it probably shouldn’t feel so good but it does, it does, it really does. You shut your eyes and open your mouth and open your legs for him, he presses a knee to your growing hard-on and then he’s kissing you and you kiss him back, because he’s just that good.
His fingernails leave scratches on your back and you can feel his devious, aroused smirk all over your body. When he cups your balls with one hand, the other firmly pressed on your naked torso, you gasp a little, and maybe, maybe you whimpered. He kisses you again, this time with a sort of tenderness you can’t quite put your finger on, because, c’mon. He cornered you after another fruitless fucking draw (which sometimes can be a worse result than losing, really, life’s a bitch), and you’re quite positive you’ve never even talked to him before, and he had this look on him (he’s had it the whole time, for the whole match and Christ it was distracting, it really was), like he wanted to eat you or something, and he just kissed you, hungry, feverish, sticking his tongue into your mouth and, well, that was surprising. You’re not even into men, if you don’t bring into the picture the huge, embarrassing crush you’ve had on your captain since you were eleven years old, but Marco, well, he lets you grab his ass and you are selfconfident enough to admit that it's better than any other you’ve ever touched. (He’ll drop to being the second best, however, when you’ll finally, finally find the guts to say, “Truth is, Alex, that I happen to love you”.)
So you’re kind of startled, now that he’s slowing down a bit, all his raging passion and hungry touches seemingly forgotten, taking his time to savour your sensitive skin, gently caressing your back and your hips and your neck. You’re confused, because you were expecting a quick fuck in the broom cupboard, just to steam off some of the seasonal stress, and here Marco goes, kissing your chin softly, and then your mouth, your cheeks, like a proper lover, like the two of you have all the time in the world.
Like you two actually know each other, or share some kind of interest besides your excruciatingly neglected hard-on.
He seems to be able to read your mind or something, anyway, because he smiles a little and kisses you again slowly, cupping your face in his hands and gently pushing himself against you.
“Give me a moment, I actually like you,” he says, his eyes so green it almost hurts, and you shiver a bit because his voice is unfairly low, a man’s voice, and you’re still kind of surprised when it sends a shiver down your spine and up to your cock.
“Yeah, fuck,” you whisper, swallowing hard to forget all of your undying embarrassment, and you pull him down hardly for a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss that leaves you both breathless. “I don’t think we do have a moment to spare.”
He smiles at that, breath-takingly beautiful, and leans in to kiss your pouting mouth again.
Fandom: RPF Football
Characters/Pairing: Claudio Marchisio/Marco Borriello, hints Marchisio/Del Piero
Rating: R
Wordcount: 648 (fidipu)
Warnings: slash, OMGJUVENTUS, OMGBORRIELLO.
A/Notes: Oh, boys. *rolleyes*
- (also, written as a branch of the footieforest.)
- (I entirely blame that pretty gif for this one, FYI.)
Disclaimer: Pretty lies to believe in.
©
~ Nice eyes, wanna fuck?
He shoves you into the nearest wall and shuts the door closed behind his back, and you don’t really know how you manage to keep yourself from groaning, unimpressed, because, really? You could use less clichés in your life.
His hands, however, at least are nothing like some stereotyped, perfect work of God. They’re too big, too hot on your almost freezing skin, and his fingers are calloused, not nearly quick enough while pushing your shorts all the way down to your knees.
You moan softly as Marco’s lips find the most sensitive spot on your neck, and you can feel him grin a bit and then push his hips against yours and fuck. He’s not as skinny as you are, your bones stick out everywhere while he’s all rounded, tan muscles and it probably shouldn’t feel so good but it does, it does, it really does. You shut your eyes and open your mouth and open your legs for him, he presses a knee to your growing hard-on and then he’s kissing you and you kiss him back, because he’s just that good.
His fingernails leave scratches on your back and you can feel his devious, aroused smirk all over your body. When he cups your balls with one hand, the other firmly pressed on your naked torso, you gasp a little, and maybe, maybe you whimpered. He kisses you again, this time with a sort of tenderness you can’t quite put your finger on, because, c’mon. He cornered you after another fruitless fucking draw (which sometimes can be a worse result than losing, really, life’s a bitch), and you’re quite positive you’ve never even talked to him before, and he had this look on him (he’s had it the whole time, for the whole match and Christ it was distracting, it really was), like he wanted to eat you or something, and he just kissed you, hungry, feverish, sticking his tongue into your mouth and, well, that was surprising. You’re not even into men, if you don’t bring into the picture the huge, embarrassing crush you’ve had on your captain since you were eleven years old, but Marco, well, he lets you grab his ass and you are selfconfident enough to admit that it's better than any other you’ve ever touched. (He’ll drop to being the second best, however, when you’ll finally, finally find the guts to say, “Truth is, Alex, that I happen to love you”.)
So you’re kind of startled, now that he’s slowing down a bit, all his raging passion and hungry touches seemingly forgotten, taking his time to savour your sensitive skin, gently caressing your back and your hips and your neck. You’re confused, because you were expecting a quick fuck in the broom cupboard, just to steam off some of the seasonal stress, and here Marco goes, kissing your chin softly, and then your mouth, your cheeks, like a proper lover, like the two of you have all the time in the world.
Like you two actually know each other, or share some kind of interest besides your excruciatingly neglected hard-on.
He seems to be able to read your mind or something, anyway, because he smiles a little and kisses you again slowly, cupping your face in his hands and gently pushing himself against you.
“Give me a moment, I actually like you,” he says, his eyes so green it almost hurts, and you shiver a bit because his voice is unfairly low, a man’s voice, and you’re still kind of surprised when it sends a shiver down your spine and up to your cock.
“Yeah, fuck,” you whisper, swallowing hard to forget all of your undying embarrassment, and you pull him down hardly for a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss that leaves you both breathless. “I don’t think we do have a moment to spare.”
He smiles at that, breath-takingly beautiful, and leans in to kiss your pouting mouth again.