Dark is the night - He left at dawn. (2/7)
Title: Dark is the night
Chapter 1 - He left at dawn
Pairing: Rubén de la Red / Esteban Granero
Other characters mentioned: Andres Iniesta
Rating: NC-17
written for my
footballverse Writing Big Bang Table. (prompt: 10. He left at dawn)
warning: this is an AU. Vampire!AU, to be precise. Frankly, I have no idea what I'm doing or why I'm doing it, but I looked at the prompts and suddenly the story was there. We'll see how this one goes, I guess.
thank you, giacomina, for reminding me of this and for the bounding over Rubén.
Part 1(the prologue) is here.
#
“I’m usually … I’m usually not doing these sorts of things, you know?”
Esteban was panting into the other man’s neck, his eyes fluttering close as he felt how his belt was unfastened and his jeans were undone, the feeling of rough denim vanishing and giving space to the feeling of a harsh palm wrapped around his cock, making him sigh. He was telling the truth - and it had been quite a while.
“I know … don’t worry, it’s fine …,” the other man whispered back, catching Esteban as he tried to get closer, closer, closer to the firm body in front of him, his voice sounding strangely knowing and convinced. As if he actually knew and not just whispered the words for Esteban’s reassurance, to make him relax and give in to him, eventually. No, the other man’s words sounded far more convincing, something that would have surprised Esteban … if not for his body having ruled out his mind long ago, having completely given in to the excitement, the nervousness and the pleasure already.
The stranger’s fingers were cool as he kept on stripping Esteban from all of his clothes and laid him down unto the bed, Esteban’s body sinking into the soft cushions immediately. His fingers were also nimble and quick, using Esteban’s state of almost being shocked with pleasure to seal his lips with deep, languid kisses and as disguise for them to quickly scan over Esteban’s body, as if to frame it in whole. He was quiet while doing so, as quiet as the night, as quiet as he had been the whole evening. They had met at a club, the dance floor being so packed and the music so intriguing that it simply bound people to eventually get closer closer that inch closer together and the strangers hands on his body had felt too good to resist (and maybe it had also been the fact that there was somebody showing interest in Esteban, at all). Esteban knew he had been seduced but it had happened so subtle, so quietly, that he only got aware of it now, now that he was already lying naked in the stranger’s bed - or was it just a hotel room? In that particular second, Esteban honest to god couldn’t remember -, his own fingers hungrily sinking into the flesh of the stranger’s back, everything he could claw into as he felt how he was being rubbed and softened and stretched, wide, all over. It wasn’t Esteban’s first time. But it almost felt like it, with the world slowing down to a halt suddenly, prolonging all of his emotions and feelings, the burning and the heat, the longing and the pleasure, drawing every ounce of it out of him until their intensity almost became too painful to bear. He kept on whispering and moaning all kinds of sense and nonsense into the pale shoulder hovering above him, answering to his seducers thrusts with tiny, feverish sounds.
“… πολλὰ τὰ δεινὰ κοὐδὲν ἀνθρώπου δεινότερον πέλει…,” the black-haired man whispered once, the only thing he said during the whole night, silencing Esteban’s questioning look with a kiss planted on his neck as he slowly worked up and into him, his fingernails digging deep into Esteban’s hips, the back of his thighs, the curve of his ass but only so much that Esteban was never afraid of the other man probably breaking the ski and drawing blood there. “Forget it. Just an old man being exceptionally right and fundamentally wrong …”
Esteban shook his head, his hair curling from the sweat he was dripping with all over and sticking to his temples, trying to form words but his mouth resisted to obey him, falling open to release a chocking sound when the stranger finally seemed to find the right angle, his thrusts sending jolts of bliss through his body.
“God … I …,” he eventually managed to say, his voice being stuck in his throat and fighting its way out between harsh, almost pained gasps. “I don’t even know your name …”
“I’m Rubén … It was and still is a pleasure to meet you, Esteban …”
Esteban was too wound up, too far gone to realize he hadn’t even told Rubén his name. Rubén did - and smiled. It seemed like not all of his mistakes were coming with a punishment after all, lately.
*
Rubén counted his breaths. And his heartbeats.
Even if he hadn’t felt them beneath his palm, he wouldn’t have missed a single one of them.
With fascination he watched how Esteban’s lids fluttered being in mid-dream, how his face sometimes contorted, the wrinkling of his nose, a twitching of his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing. It was not something Rubén had never seen before and yet he found himself captured by all of these little movements. Most of all, he found himself captured by the warmth, though. By the smell of Esteban’s skin mixing with the smell of his blood, singing to him, a melody fitting the rhythm of Esteban’s beating heart. And yet Rubén was strangely but absolutely sure that he wouldn’t harm this man, not tonight, probably even not ever. And that was the other thing that captured Rubén, the only thing he could think about with one of his hands still digging into Esteban’s waist and the other one playing in his hair, combing the soft strands.
He could still remember the first time he had seen Esteban - the fact striking enough, because it hadn’t been Esteban’s blood calling him, no, it had been his own eyes finding him -, sitting in an old and almost empty bar and reading a book Rubén didn’t care to remember about. Mesmerized at first sight, Rubén had cancelled his appointment with Andres and sat down at a different table at the bar, everything unnoticed by Esteban. And, sipping the best wine the barkeeper had to offer (and the worst wine Rubén had ever tasted), he had studied Esteban for the first time.
The shape of his nose. The way his wrists curled whenever he turned a page over. How his bottom lip was caught by his teeth every now and then, every time his brows furrowed and he leaned closer to the book, as if wanting to jump into it, interfere with whatever was happening in it right now. And that had also been the first time, Rubén had heard his blood sing. Singing to him.
And even though it was only one or two hours after he had first seen him, Rubén knew at that point the latest that things wouldn’t be over with this somehow wasted and yet so very fulfilling night spent at a bar, spying on a man he didn’t know yet but was burning to get to know already.
It didn’t take him long to follow Esteban’s tracks down, discretely and by night.
Rubén made a careful job to spend attention to not mixing up prying into Esteban’s affairs and getting to know him, spared himself the details concerning people Esteban hang out with or what he was doing all day every day (even though he found out that he actually did study pretty soon, with Esteban being the type of guy who always carried at least one book linked to his subject, psychology, around with him).
But it had taken almost a year to make tonight happen.
Rubén sighed lowly, filling his lungs with Esteban’s scent once again, letting the trail of memory he had picked up fade away and concentrating on counting Esteban’s heartbeats again.
No, there wouldn’t be any blood tonight.
Concerning the bounding sense, it was too early for that (even after a whole year).
And concerning the lethal one … there simply was something about this man that let Rubén hesitate for only a second, his mouth in comfortable reach of Esteban’s temptingly looking throat. And one second was more than enough in Rubén’s counting to let the man live, along with his strange fascination.
*
He left at dawn.
Esteban hadn’t noticed when exactly he had drifted to sleep, but he was awakened by his limps suddenly being clutched around the blanket instead of a body. When he opened his eyes, he could see the city awaken right in front of the room’s windowpanes, with the sun still hidden beneath the skyscraper’s silhouettes, only flooding parts of the city with golden sunlight and painting the sky in a soft red and pink.
Apparently, Rubén had left before the rose horizon had revealed the first rays of sunlight.
And everything he left behind were the wet sheets of the hotel bed, the blurry memory of a shadow of a man with eyes vast like the sea and a wicked smile, sharp, red crescents and purple bruises all around Esteban’s thighs and the unvoiced promise of more things to come lingering in the air.
Chapter 1 - He left at dawn
Pairing: Rubén de la Red / Esteban Granero
Other characters mentioned: Andres Iniesta
Rating: NC-17
written for my
footballverse Writing Big Bang Table. (prompt: 10. He left at dawn)
warning: this is an AU. Vampire!AU, to be precise. Frankly, I have no idea what I'm doing or why I'm doing it, but I looked at the prompts and suddenly the story was there. We'll see how this one goes, I guess.
thank you, giacomina, for reminding me of this and for the bounding over Rubén.
Part 1(the prologue) is here.
#
“I’m usually … I’m usually not doing these sorts of things, you know?”
Esteban was panting into the other man’s neck, his eyes fluttering close as he felt how his belt was unfastened and his jeans were undone, the feeling of rough denim vanishing and giving space to the feeling of a harsh palm wrapped around his cock, making him sigh. He was telling the truth - and it had been quite a while.
“I know … don’t worry, it’s fine …,” the other man whispered back, catching Esteban as he tried to get closer, closer, closer to the firm body in front of him, his voice sounding strangely knowing and convinced. As if he actually knew and not just whispered the words for Esteban’s reassurance, to make him relax and give in to him, eventually. No, the other man’s words sounded far more convincing, something that would have surprised Esteban … if not for his body having ruled out his mind long ago, having completely given in to the excitement, the nervousness and the pleasure already.
The stranger’s fingers were cool as he kept on stripping Esteban from all of his clothes and laid him down unto the bed, Esteban’s body sinking into the soft cushions immediately. His fingers were also nimble and quick, using Esteban’s state of almost being shocked with pleasure to seal his lips with deep, languid kisses and as disguise for them to quickly scan over Esteban’s body, as if to frame it in whole. He was quiet while doing so, as quiet as the night, as quiet as he had been the whole evening. They had met at a club, the dance floor being so packed and the music so intriguing that it simply bound people to eventually get closer closer that inch closer together and the strangers hands on his body had felt too good to resist (and maybe it had also been the fact that there was somebody showing interest in Esteban, at all). Esteban knew he had been seduced but it had happened so subtle, so quietly, that he only got aware of it now, now that he was already lying naked in the stranger’s bed - or was it just a hotel room? In that particular second, Esteban honest to god couldn’t remember -, his own fingers hungrily sinking into the flesh of the stranger’s back, everything he could claw into as he felt how he was being rubbed and softened and stretched, wide, all over. It wasn’t Esteban’s first time. But it almost felt like it, with the world slowing down to a halt suddenly, prolonging all of his emotions and feelings, the burning and the heat, the longing and the pleasure, drawing every ounce of it out of him until their intensity almost became too painful to bear. He kept on whispering and moaning all kinds of sense and nonsense into the pale shoulder hovering above him, answering to his seducers thrusts with tiny, feverish sounds.
“… πολλὰ τὰ δεινὰ κοὐδὲν ἀνθρώπου δεινότερον πέλει…,” the black-haired man whispered once, the only thing he said during the whole night, silencing Esteban’s questioning look with a kiss planted on his neck as he slowly worked up and into him, his fingernails digging deep into Esteban’s hips, the back of his thighs, the curve of his ass but only so much that Esteban was never afraid of the other man probably breaking the ski and drawing blood there. “Forget it. Just an old man being exceptionally right and fundamentally wrong …”
Esteban shook his head, his hair curling from the sweat he was dripping with all over and sticking to his temples, trying to form words but his mouth resisted to obey him, falling open to release a chocking sound when the stranger finally seemed to find the right angle, his thrusts sending jolts of bliss through his body.
“God … I …,” he eventually managed to say, his voice being stuck in his throat and fighting its way out between harsh, almost pained gasps. “I don’t even know your name …”
“I’m Rubén … It was and still is a pleasure to meet you, Esteban …”
Esteban was too wound up, too far gone to realize he hadn’t even told Rubén his name. Rubén did - and smiled. It seemed like not all of his mistakes were coming with a punishment after all, lately.
*
Rubén counted his breaths. And his heartbeats.
Even if he hadn’t felt them beneath his palm, he wouldn’t have missed a single one of them.
With fascination he watched how Esteban’s lids fluttered being in mid-dream, how his face sometimes contorted, the wrinkling of his nose, a twitching of his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing. It was not something Rubén had never seen before and yet he found himself captured by all of these little movements. Most of all, he found himself captured by the warmth, though. By the smell of Esteban’s skin mixing with the smell of his blood, singing to him, a melody fitting the rhythm of Esteban’s beating heart. And yet Rubén was strangely but absolutely sure that he wouldn’t harm this man, not tonight, probably even not ever. And that was the other thing that captured Rubén, the only thing he could think about with one of his hands still digging into Esteban’s waist and the other one playing in his hair, combing the soft strands.
He could still remember the first time he had seen Esteban - the fact striking enough, because it hadn’t been Esteban’s blood calling him, no, it had been his own eyes finding him -, sitting in an old and almost empty bar and reading a book Rubén didn’t care to remember about. Mesmerized at first sight, Rubén had cancelled his appointment with Andres and sat down at a different table at the bar, everything unnoticed by Esteban. And, sipping the best wine the barkeeper had to offer (and the worst wine Rubén had ever tasted), he had studied Esteban for the first time.
The shape of his nose. The way his wrists curled whenever he turned a page over. How his bottom lip was caught by his teeth every now and then, every time his brows furrowed and he leaned closer to the book, as if wanting to jump into it, interfere with whatever was happening in it right now. And that had also been the first time, Rubén had heard his blood sing. Singing to him.
And even though it was only one or two hours after he had first seen him, Rubén knew at that point the latest that things wouldn’t be over with this somehow wasted and yet so very fulfilling night spent at a bar, spying on a man he didn’t know yet but was burning to get to know already.
It didn’t take him long to follow Esteban’s tracks down, discretely and by night.
Rubén made a careful job to spend attention to not mixing up prying into Esteban’s affairs and getting to know him, spared himself the details concerning people Esteban hang out with or what he was doing all day every day (even though he found out that he actually did study pretty soon, with Esteban being the type of guy who always carried at least one book linked to his subject, psychology, around with him).
But it had taken almost a year to make tonight happen.
Rubén sighed lowly, filling his lungs with Esteban’s scent once again, letting the trail of memory he had picked up fade away and concentrating on counting Esteban’s heartbeats again.
No, there wouldn’t be any blood tonight.
Concerning the bounding sense, it was too early for that (even after a whole year).
And concerning the lethal one … there simply was something about this man that let Rubén hesitate for only a second, his mouth in comfortable reach of Esteban’s temptingly looking throat. And one second was more than enough in Rubén’s counting to let the man live, along with his strange fascination.
*
He left at dawn.
Esteban hadn’t noticed when exactly he had drifted to sleep, but he was awakened by his limps suddenly being clutched around the blanket instead of a body. When he opened his eyes, he could see the city awaken right in front of the room’s windowpanes, with the sun still hidden beneath the skyscraper’s silhouettes, only flooding parts of the city with golden sunlight and painting the sky in a soft red and pink.
Apparently, Rubén had left before the rose horizon had revealed the first rays of sunlight.
And everything he left behind were the wet sheets of the hotel bed, the blurry memory of a shadow of a man with eyes vast like the sea and a wicked smile, sharp, red crescents and purple bruises all around Esteban’s thighs and the unvoiced promise of more things to come lingering in the air.