Fic: Sweet Dream, Beautiful Nightmare
Title: Sweet Dream, Beautiful Nightmare
Pairing: Juan Martin Del Potro/Juan Monaco
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Fiction
something short&angsty with the argentinian boys. rough and unpolished and i wrote this feeling like crap but i've been wanting to write these two for a very long time. feedback is always appreciated
Everything is just wrong tonight. The air is stale and suffocating, making breathing labourious and uncomfortable. He kicks off the rough hotel sheets, his skin scratched and prickly. Despite not admitting it openly, it's useless, all so useless. It has been weeks now since Juan Martin has been able to have a good night's sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees sad beauitful eyes. Eyes that beg for forgiveness, pleading to be held and shielded from the hurt, the pain, the shame. Haunting eyes last for about thirty seconds before turning into images of him throwing his head back against the pillow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pleads with his moans for Juan Martin to not stop, never stop. Just like the soulful sullen eyes, Juan Martin cannot get rid of the image of long locks, darkened by perspiration, clinging to his neck as he rolled his head from side to side. It's a side of him Juan Martin has never seen before, side no one has probably seen, and a side he knows he will most likely never witness again. Sinking into his heat, curling him close, kissing him deep and rough has opened a portal in Juan Martin, despite his efforts to repress it as much as possible.
Juan Martin always had known that it was a bad, horrible decision but in this moment, weeks later, he still doesn't know if he regrets it. At first he saw it as taking advantage of his hurt friend, of a difficult situation full with multiple emotions. Perhaps it was a 'heat of the moment' thing. One thing he is sure of is that in that moment, all Juan Martin wanted to do was wipe away the tears of disppointment, of shame and hurt, wanted to kiss tired eyelids and hold his trembling body until sleep took over both of them. And he did.
Turning onto his side, Juan Martin sighs as he attempts sleep again, rough lumpy hotel pillows under his head, knowing he will eventually fall into a sweet dream and a beauitful nightmare all at once and there is nothing he can do about it.
Pairing: Juan Martin Del Potro/Juan Monaco
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Fiction
something short&angsty with the argentinian boys. rough and unpolished and i wrote this feeling like crap but i've been wanting to write these two for a very long time. feedback is always appreciated
Everything is just wrong tonight. The air is stale and suffocating, making breathing labourious and uncomfortable. He kicks off the rough hotel sheets, his skin scratched and prickly. Despite not admitting it openly, it's useless, all so useless. It has been weeks now since Juan Martin has been able to have a good night's sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees sad beauitful eyes. Eyes that beg for forgiveness, pleading to be held and shielded from the hurt, the pain, the shame. Haunting eyes last for about thirty seconds before turning into images of him throwing his head back against the pillow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pleads with his moans for Juan Martin to not stop, never stop. Just like the soulful sullen eyes, Juan Martin cannot get rid of the image of long locks, darkened by perspiration, clinging to his neck as he rolled his head from side to side. It's a side of him Juan Martin has never seen before, side no one has probably seen, and a side he knows he will most likely never witness again. Sinking into his heat, curling him close, kissing him deep and rough has opened a portal in Juan Martin, despite his efforts to repress it as much as possible.
Juan Martin always had known that it was a bad, horrible decision but in this moment, weeks later, he still doesn't know if he regrets it. At first he saw it as taking advantage of his hurt friend, of a difficult situation full with multiple emotions. Perhaps it was a 'heat of the moment' thing. One thing he is sure of is that in that moment, all Juan Martin wanted to do was wipe away the tears of disppointment, of shame and hurt, wanted to kiss tired eyelids and hold his trembling body until sleep took over both of them. And he did.
Turning onto his side, Juan Martin sighs as he attempts sleep again, rough lumpy hotel pillows under his head, knowing he will eventually fall into a sweet dream and a beauitful nightmare all at once and there is nothing he can do about it.