RayRay's Midnight Rambles

fic: i want your high love and emotion (endlessly)

2013-08-11T05:47:42Z

title: i want your high love and emotion (endlessly)
pairing: david ferrer/tommy robredo, feliciano lopez/fernando verdasco
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
summary: the one where feli drags david to yoga class because he has the hots for the instructor yet somehow david's the one falling in love. AU
a/n: first and foremost this is for miss_black91 ♥. i'm going to leave this as a standalone for now but i will most likely continue it.

“I just don’t understand why I have to go with you.”

Annoyed, David slides his eyes over to his friend – best friend... maybe – Feli who is sitting next to him in his car with his arms crossed over his chest, doing his best petulant child impression.

“Because we always go to the gym together,” David says calmly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s not my fault you fucked it up with Fernando.”

Feli groans. “I didn’t fuck it up. I dumped him. There’s a difference.”

“Then why are you the one avoiding him?”

Instead of answering outright, Feli huffs before he leans over to put some music on.

“Well whatever. I’m not doing yoga today. I’ll just stay on the bike or do weights or something.”

“No way,” David puts up a protest, his back straightening. “You’re the reason why I signed up for the stupid class anyway. I don’t give a fuck if you broke up with the instructor you’re going to do this with me.”

“David...”

It’s the beginning of a whine but David shoots his friend a glare and Feli drops it promptly and when they arrive at the gym together he even holds the door open for him.

They’re about fifteen minutes early so both men jump on the stationary bikes and leisurely begin to warm up their muscles.

“So what happened anyway?”

“Huh?”

“With Fernando.”

It’s loud in the gym but David knows Feli hears him if the way his body tenses is any indication. He doesn’t push him however, just continues to pedal with a little more intensity.

“He just wasn’t my type.”

David snorts. “You’re kidding right? I’ve never seen anyone hit it off the way you two did in the three weeks you were together.”

“Well sometimes it just doesn’t work out.” Feli shrugs and David drops it. He will bring it up again but in a different setting, perhaps one that involves alcohol.

When it’s time for their yoga class to start, they make their way up the stairs to the top floor of the gym, stopping by the lockers to retrieve their mats. Because Feli is no longer seeking the instructor’s attention, he settles into the back of the class and though David rolls his eyes at his friend he still follows.

“So, you’re just going to ignore him?”

Feli shrugs, not committing to an answer.

The most frustrating thing about Feli is that he’s been friends with David far too long for David to not care about him. They met when they were 18, both fresh faced and eager to start university. David was new to Madrid and Feli, being the native, was quick and willing to show him around and although their fields of study were completely different (David’s computer science to Feli’s Spanish Literature) they made time for each other and ended up getting a flat together in their third year of study. David knows Feli pretty well and vice versa but that doesn’t mean he isn’t highly frustrated with his friend at times.

Sighing, David rolls out his mat, stands in the middle of it and drops his body forward, touching his toes with his fingers. He counts slowly to five before slowly coiling upward while releasing a breath. Despite being dragged into yoga for all the wrong reasons (Feli ran into their flat one day, all but gushing about a hot yoga instructor named Fernando and surprise! they taking now taking classes!) it is something David finds himself so easily lost in. When his head finally rolls back to face the front of the studio, David’s eyes focus on someone he’s never seen before but would like to see more of.

A slender man with short brown wispy hair stands at the front of the studio, his light eyes slowly sweeping around the class. When his meet David’s he offers a smile before clapping his hands together.

“Hello, good evening everyone,” the man says with a friendly voice as he gathers the room’s attention. “I’m Tommy and I will be – ah – Fernando’s replacement for today.” He smiles easily before continuing. “Don’t worry however! Fernando has filled me in so we’ll continue what he has been doing with you all and I will introduce you to something new... Maybe.” He – Tommy – laughs as he claps his hands again. “Okay you have a minute then we’ll get right into it.”

“Do you think he’s okay?”

David snaps out of his thoughts and turns to Feli who is frowning. “What?”

“Fernando. Do you think... I mean there’s got to be a reason why he’s not here.”

David shrugs. He wants to know more about their new instructor not their old one. “Suffering from a broken heart maybe?”

“Fuck off,” Feli begins but that’s all he’s able to get in as Tommy tells everyone to face him, relax their bodies and begin their breathing exercises.

With each breath, David begins to relax and finds himself focusing on Tommy’s voice. It’s soft and he doesn’t roll his ‘R’s’ as intently as he should. It fills David like his own personal soundtrack; he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t realise that voice is right against his ear until a hand settles on his shoulder.

“Drop your shoulders a little, yeah just like that,” Tommy says with a slight approval as he smoothes out his hand before moving forward, leaving David distracted and wanting him to come back.

The entire hour follows the same pattern. He’s relaxed and lost in the movement, flow and breathing until Tommy comes out of nowhere and touches him somewhere, correcting or praising and though David knows he needs to do with all his students but he swears Tommy lingers his fingers against his skin.

“And with one more breath,” Tommy says calmly, “we conclude tonight’s class.”

When David opens his eyes (he always closes them on the last breathing routine, instructed or not – just something his body does automatically when he’s truly relaxed) he’s greeted with Tommy’s soft smile.

“Great work today,” And David feels like he’s speaking to him directly until he Tommy throws in the “everybody” at the end.

“Ferru... Hey, David!”

Fingers snap in front of his face and it takes a moment for David to realize that Feli is looking at him with a smirk on his face.

“Did you find your own Fernando, hmm?”

“Oh fuck you,” David replies but he’s too busy trying not to blush as he busies himself with rolling up his mat to enforce any real malice in his voice.

“Do you want me to talk to him? He’s definitely not my type so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“And he’s definitely not a Fernando type so I don’t have to worry about that.”

It takes Feli a moment before he understands what his friend implies. “Hey!”

David howls as he hustles out of the studio, leaving a disgruntled Feli behind. He’s looking forward to the next class in two days already.

*

The shaker tips over and granules of salt trickle onto tanned outstretched skin of a smooth neck presented before him. He looks over and sees his best friend smirk before he gives him a nod. They are doing this. They are really doing this.

David leans forward, licks the salt off the very delectable looking man before him, knocks back the shot of tequila and quickly plunges to take the slice of lime from said man’s mouth. He tries to cut it short but the man wraps his fingers around David’s neck and keeps him in place for a proper kiss. When he’s finally released (with the lime wedge between his teeth) David turns to Feli who hasn’t let up from his partner’s lips just yet, no sign of the piece of the citrus fruit anywhere.

How he gets himself into these kinds of things David doesn’t know.

The man David just licked salt off of and locked lips with whispers the promise of filthy things into his ear before sauntering off. It’s not that he isn’t interested because he really is but the night is young so David stays put for now and orders a rum and coke.

“How was yours?”

David turns his head to see Feli grinning at him, his lips red, his eyes giving him away.

“Not as fun as yours apparently.”

Feli laughs as he claps his friend’s back, signaling the bartender with his other hand. Once he has a drink, he spins around and surveys the crowd before swirling back just as quickly.

“Fuck.”

His eyes shuffle to the people around him. “Why the fuck are you so short, Ferru?”

“What?”

Feli drops to his knees a little. “Fernando. He’s here.”

Doing the first thing that comes to mind, David laughs, loud and hearty. “And you’re surprised?”

“Fuck!” Feli repeats though now he’s lost his gleeful expression from earlier. “What do I do?”

It strikes David as odd how Feli is acting but the alcohol is starting to settle in and he’s beginning to care less about his friend’s problems and more about the fact that he wants to find someone to leave with tonight.

“Go say hi. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

David turns around, wanting to see Fernando for himself and when he sees who is with Feli’s ex his stomach flips inside. “Yeah, let’s go say hi, Feli. Come on.”

“What?” Feli hisses as he pushes David back around to face him. “Are you fucking crazy?”

He really does care for his friend, he does. And if it was any other man but the one standing fifty feet away on the other side of the club he would buy Feli another drink before leaving to another bar. But as soon as he lays his eyes on Tommy standing there in a white v-neck tee that hugs his body in all the right places he hasn’t thought about much less except wanting to rip off the flimsy material and...

“What is wrong with you?”

He waves off a pissed off Feli before pushing off the bar. “I’m going to go say hi.”

“What? You can’t!” Feli reaches forward and wraps his fingers around David’s wrist, holding back his friend. “Ferru, you can’t.”

“Tommy’s with him.”

It wasn’t something he was planning to say but it comes out of his mouth like word vomit. It’s not a secret anyway but to David it feels like he is admitting something – something he isn’t sure he wants to just yet.

“David...” Feli sighs, letting his shoulders droop and his friend go. “Just remember I hate you.”

David laughs as he reaches up on his tippy toes and kisses his friend’s cheek. “Thank you, nene.” He turns back to the crowd and takes a step in the direction he had seen Tommy and Fernando earlier. Pushing past people with a ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ David gets to the other side but the other two are nowhere in sight. His skin starts to flush, tingles of sweat starting at the base of neck and forehead, anxiety and heat getting to him. David looks from left to right and right to left. Nothing. Suddenly the lights drop and a heavy drum beat fills the air and cheers fill the bar.

As tables get pushed aside to form a dance floor, David makes his way back defeated to Feli who’s speaking with the men they had been licking salt off just twenty minutes ago.

He shrugs off the feeling before kissing the man whose name he doesn’t know and doesn’t care to learn.

--

It’s not quite twenty-four hours but with plenty of water and coffee David and Feli drag their sluggish bodies to the gym. (Well, David does the dragging; Feli as usual bitches and moans until David threatens to no longer be his wingman. However, instead of following quietly he complains about David ‘holding back his movement’. What movement that was David doesn’t ask.)

David takes a seat on a bike, pushing strained, tired and alcohol soaked muscles far beyond their will. They didn’t get back to their place until past five o’clock the night before and for them that is early but both men were far too drunk to be out in public and somehow managed to get home unharmed and without companions for the night besides each other. They spent most of their day recovering and David had felt extremely horrible for calling into work sick, something he doesn’t do very often but he just couldn’t get himself out of bed today.

“Is this bike taken?”

Fernando slides in next to him, offering a slight smile, dressed in too brightly coloured clothing. Although it’s not something David himself would wear he does admit that the neon makes Fernando’s skin look much more tanned.

“How are you, Fer?”

Fernando shrugs noncommittally as he starts to pedal leisurely at first then gaining some speed. “I’m all right.” He drops his shoulders forward, ducking his head completely as he moves his legs faster. “I’m glad you guys are still taking the class.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two but if you want us to drop it, Fer, we will.” David doesn’t add that Feli already wants to.

The yoga instructor rolls out his neck and smiles at David, albeit sadly. “No, no, that’s fine. You are entitled to continue. You are enjoying it then?”

David laughs. “Actually, yeah. Much more than I thought I would.” He pauses for a moment, not sure how to ask the question he’s been wondering about. “So... where were you on Tuesday?”

“I had... a family thing come up. My dad owns a restaurant and he got a little sick so I helped out there for a bit,” he straightens his back and pushes back his long hair off his face. “Luckily my good friend is in town and was able to cover for me here.”

“How do you know Tommy?”

“We met in Barcelona about five years ago at this yoga convention,” Fernando laughs. “Insanely enough – as much as I love yoga it was too crazy for me, too weird. Let’s just say the people were interesting to say the least and Tommy was the only one who wasn’t as crazy.” He looks behind him, searching for something. “He’s here today too, going to sit in on my class.”

He knows he shouldn’t ask but he does. “Were you guys at El Sol last night?”

Fernando’s face drops. “Yeah,” He says quietly. “I thought it would be best if I avoided Feli while being out. So we left shortly after after I saw him.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” David offers politely. “I just ask because I went over to where I thought you two were but I couldn’t find you.”

“Ah, well we popped over to Privé because my friend was DJ’ing.” Fernando looks down at his watch and stops pedalling. “Well, I should get going. See you upstairs.”

David nods, disappointed yet optimistic for the fact that he will get to see Tommy again. When he gets off the bike minutes later however his enthusiasm falls away.

“Oh there you are,” Feli says with a grin on his lips. “Look who I found!”

Tommy smiles at him before outstretching his hand. “Hi. I’m Tommy.”

Subconsciously, David licks his lips, reaching out to shake his hand. “David. Nice to meet you.”

“Tommy was just saying he was at El Sol last night,” Feli says with a smirk.

But David doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I was just talking to Fernando. He was just telling me you two were there together.” He grins when Feli’s scowls. David then turns his attention to Tommy. “He says you’re in town but didn’t say where from.”

Tommy smiles shyly and there’s something about it that has David wanting to see more of it.

“Girona but I live in Barcelona now. I just sold my yoga studio there and am looking to open one up here,” he leans in close, his smile still intact. “Don’t tell Fernando just yet but I’m here to convince him to come teach for me once I get a studio here.”

He smells like spice and musk and David loves it, loves the heady feeling it gives him.

“I don’t think it’ll take much convincing. Fernando was saying you two are good friends.”

“We are but I think he really likes this place.”

“Sorry to interrupt this fascinating conversation, gentlemen,” Feli interjects, looking utterly bored. “but our class is starting in about a minute so maybe you two can take your flirting upstairs.”

Feli turns on his heels and because David knows him so well he can just picture him smirking. The bastard.

-

Classes on Thursdays are hot yoga, which mean the studio is much warmer than it is usually to loosen up the muscles and flexibility. The air is heavy and it reminds David a little of home – of Valencia in the summertime when the humidity sinks into your skin and crawls all over. He goes back every so often but not enough for David not to miss it more than he would like to admit.

As usual, he lets Feli decide where they are to settle with their mats in tow. They are towards the back whereas David notices Tommy chooses to stand near the front.

“Do you want to move?” Feli turns to ask him with a smirk on his lips, no doubt catching the direction of his eyes.

“Here is just fine,” David replies curtly. Sometimes he wonders why he is still friends with the man.

Luckily the class runs smoothly with minimal awkwardness between Feli and Fernando. Fernando’s still smiling brightly throughout the class but he avoids Feli’s eyes. But he is still very friendly with David so David doesn’t mind. Feli’s an adult and if he chose to end a relationship on grounds that was most likely to be bullshit, well that’s his decision.

David is too busy focusing on Tommy to care anyway. And Tommy is a distraction like no other. Usually David likes to close his eyes through most of the poses but he can’t today. He follows Tommy every move out the corner of his eye, hoping if anyone notices they will pass it off as him concentrating and not being creepy.

Every bead of sweat that forms on Tommy’s skin and rolls down torturously slow teases David so much so he feels like the temperature in the studio is higher than it should be for hot yoga. He clenches his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out everything except his breathing and Fernando’s voice but it’s fruitless. As soon as he opens his eyes again, they fall on Tommy who tips his body forward, stretching to touch the floor with his palms, presenting the long and glorious line of his backside and legs.

It takes every ounce of his will to not jump Tommy. Right then Right there.

When the class finally comes to a close with one last breath (David doesn’t know if he is glad or not) he is greeted by a grinning Feli.

“You couldn’t have made it any more obvious, Ferru.” Feli reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “I am proud of you.”

“Shut it,” David spits out. “Otherwise you can find your own way home.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Ferru!” Feli laughs, the shit eating grin still on his face. “I’m rooting for you, you know.”

David opens his mouth to threaten Feli’s life when a soft voice cuts him off.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t even think about it as finds himself turning his body automatically. Shit, he’s got it bad already.

Tommy’s smiling at them, his body relaxed, clothes sweat soaked. David fights to urge to reach out and touch him.

“Fernando and I are going to have dinner at his family’s restaurant. You guys want to join us?”

David feels Feli tensing up next to him. Tommy must not know about Feli and Fernando. Shit.
“Uh, I think I’ll pass,” Feli smoothes out a beat later, rolling his shoulders back. “But David will join you.” He throws David a sweet smile before leaving for the locker rooms.

“Yeah?” Tommy turns to ask David, his eyes hopeful. And David realizes he’s completely fucked because he never wants to disappoint such a face.

David nods, his eyes catching Fernando walking towards them. “Is it cool if I get a ride with you? Feli’s going to bitch if he doesn’t get the car.”

Tommy laughs, his head falling back a little, exposing the line of his throat and David’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah, you can ride with me.”

Fernando doesn’t say anything while the exchange happens, just nods before they all head towards the locker room to shower and get ready for dinner.

*

David decides he likes Fernando. He is easygoing and very family orientated, always ready to help them even though he is there at the restaurant to eat, not work. He can see why Feli would date him but cannot see why he’s not anymore. David mentally shrugs it off before turning his attention to the table.

The three of them are greeted throughout the meal by various members of Fernando’s family, all friendly and sweet, offering David more to eat when he’s begged off a few times already. Tommy sits next to him, laughing though he gently declines more portions as well.

When Fernando leaves to help out one the new wait staff, Mari, Tommy pushes his chair back slightly to stretch his legs out, his eyes warm on David.

“So David, tell me about yourself?”

David chuckles, his cheeks reddening a little. He hates talking about himself, not one to seek attention at all. That is why his friendship with Feli, attention whore of sorts, works so well.

“There’s not much to tell really,” David starts, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. Tommy gives him a look which gets him laughing again. “Okay, okay. I am originally from Valencia before moving out here for school and I haven’t looked back since.”

With Tommy’s encourage nods and smiles, David progressively tells him about university life as a computer science student and how that has led him to work for software company that’s doing quite well. He notices how Tommy ditches his relaxed body posture to lean in slightly, like he is listening with his entire body; how he nods with something he agrees with and smiles randomly at something David says. Most of all, Tommy lets him speak without interrupting once and David kind of likes that.

“I want to know how you got into being a yoga instructor.”

Tommy laughs, his face lighting up. “Well, I started off as a personal trainer and the gym I was working at at the time started offering yoga so I sat in on a few classes. I fell in love with it within the first few weeks. It’s really relaxing and is great to help relieve stress, which personal training is not because you deal with unhappy clients and excuses. So after that, I started taking yoga more seriously, got into instructing, and haven’t been a personal trainer since.” The ease of the smile on his lips tells all. “Then I met Fernando and a few other instructors and thought about opening my own studio.”

David nods. “That sounds awesome. You two are really good instructors.” Like he has any others.

Tommy smiles, waving his hand. “Thank you. You are too kind.” He reaches forward for his glass of water. “How do you know Fernando?”

Now it’s David’s turn to laugh but it comes out sounding nervous. “Ah. Well, through Feli mostly. They dated for a little bit.”

“Oh shit,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “That’s the reason why he made us leave last night, at the club.”

David nods. “Yeah. Feli won’t talk about it but they broke up recently. Fernando’s cool though.” He shrugs.

“What about you? Seeing anyone?”

The question catches David off guard and he drops his eyes when he feels his cheeks flush. Fingers wrap around his forearm however, forcing David to look up and lock eyes with Tommy.

“Sorry,” Tommy says and he truly looks it. “I’m being intrusive. I apologize.”

“No, no,” David hastens to reassure him. “It’s really okay. No, I am not seeing anyone right now.”

He likes the way Tommy smiles at him before smoothing into a different topic.

When they finally leave the restaurant with big bags of food to accompany them, Tommy drives David home, comfortable silence filling the air more so than conversation. David doesn’t mind. It lets him watch Tommy out of the corner of his eye. Tommy extrudes calmness, an air of peace and serenity David wants to be filled with all the time.

They roll up to David’s and Feli’s place far too quickly for his liking but before he slides out the car, Tommy turns his body to his and smiles so open and hopeful, like before that it makes David fall even more for him.

“I was wondering if you want to get a coffee together sometime?”

David fights the urge to just kiss him right then and there... for about a two seconds before he closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Tommy’s. He feels Tommy’s surprise melt into want as he presses back, opening up for David. David is ready to climb over the console when Tommy pulls back, his lips red and wet, curled into a smile.

“You’re making me want to skip coffee, David.”

He loves the way his name curls around Tommy’s tongue. So he does the logical thing. David kisses Tommy again.

This time Tommy laughs before he slips a hand into David’s hair, tilting his head to his liking as he takes control. Tommy may have come across and calming but now he’s a commanding force and David loves it.

Tommy bites down on David’s bottom lip before licking it. “Tomorrow?” he asks against his lips, not stopping the kiss. “Go out with me tomorrow.”

A ‘yes’ passes between their lips, neither man ready to let go just yet. But eventually it’s David who pulls away to reach into his pockets for his phone. He passes it to Tommy without a word who doesn’t even ask as he quickly types in his number.

The feeling of elation is so high within him that when he walks passed Feli once he gets inside their home, he doesn’t even care that his friend is laughing at him.

Tomorrow.

and here we are again

2013-06-29T18:27:12Z

title: and here we are again
pairing: fernando verdasco/feliciano lopez
rating: g
disclaimer: fiction
summary: eastbourne quarterfinal drabble
a/n: ughhhhh sorry for the lack of writing and posting. i had to write something with these two and after their cute net meeting at eastbourne i had to. sorry for the shortness.

They didn’t talk before the match. Not even a harmless text message or tweet. It was how their friendship slowly became to be but that didn’t mean they didn’t have the utmost respect and love for each other. Things were just different now. Both men knew that. There was nothing to dwell upon.

But during the match it was hard for Feliciano to not notice the glances Fernando would give him over the net, when play was paused. He swore he even saw a smile or two. But he focused because at the end of the day it had always been about tennis, even between them. Tennis came first and though it may had been the cause of many fights, it still holds true and they both know it.

It hadn’t been Fernando’s best match so when Feliciano approached the net victorious, he walked cautiously, his hand outstretched, words of condolences ready on his lips. But what he was greeted with is a smile that didn’t hold back anything, wide and happy before Fernando bumped his shoulder into Feliciano’s chest, a bubble of laughter slipping out from his lips. Feliciano laughed too, ducking his head easily against Fernando’s chest. This part had always been easy between them because it was them. Fernando murmured asking him to talk afterward and he nodded into his chest. Feliciano couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

(And when Feliciano posted the photo of the their hug Fernando didn’t comment on it. Everyone knew Feliciano wore his heart on his sleeve, Fernando most of all.)

fic: take what i took and give it back to you

2012-12-29T06:06:25Z

title: take what i took and give it back to you
pairing: juan carlos ferrero/david ferrer
rating: r/nc-17
diclaimer: fiction
written for miss_black91 for tennisslash's holiday gift exchange.
i still don't feel confident writing either of these two (david more than juanqui) but i hope you like it, love. and if not, you know you'll get more anyway :p ♥

It’s ridiculous. Juan Carlos can basically smell the excitement dripping off him.

“Ferru, I believe you are more eager than I am about all this.”

From across the table, David looks up from his phone, trying to minimize his smile though he’s doing poorly at it.

“I know it’s not an entirely joyous occasion but we all want you to have the last best tournament you ever could have, Juanqui.”

He laughs as he shakes his head. Of course David would do something like that for him. For Juan Carlos however he wanted this to be a quiet bow out from the game. He’s never craved or even liked the spotlight so if it were up to him he would leave the tennis world with a gracious bow to a cheering crowd. But when he made the choice to make Valencia his last tournament, he knew he wouldn’t get that.

“You are too much, you know that?”

David shrugs though he is fighting off a smile. “Not at all. If it were up to me, you’d never retire.”

“At least we’re playing doubles together again,” Juan Carlos says with a little more excitement in his voice.

Not holding back any longer, David smiles brightly at him as he leans in a little. “It will be fun. We should have played doubles more often.”

“And have taken away the titles you have won?” Juan Carlos asks with a frown. “No way. You are meant to be amazing.”

“But I haven’t won a slam like some of us, now have I?”

Juan Carlos waves him away with a hand. “You’ll win one, Ferru, or more. 2013. Mark my words.”

David just laughs. “You know how I feel about that,” he’s fighting off a blush which Juan Carlos loves beyond words. David really has no idea just how talented he really is. “If I win a slam then it’s meant to be. If not, I will keep fighting and win what I do.”

He knows it is worthless arguing with someone who will never listen – well not about this anyway. So Juan Carlos reaches across the table instead and wraps his fingers around David’s wrist lightly. Words between them are unnecessary anyway.

*

With stinging eyes, Juan Carlos walks over and hugs Nico who holds on tight and thanks him for everything he’s done for him and for Spanish tennis. He thinks it’s a bit much but appreciates it nonetheless before he turns to the crowd and acknowledges their cheers for him. It’s insane, Juan Carlos thinks, to have all this for him, for someone who just plays (played, he’ll need to get used to that) tennis for a living. He soaks it all in as he bows to each one of the four sides of the court.

He gets through the obligatory interviews both on and off court before he is finally left alone in the locker room where he slumps against bench and lets the emotions of everything leading up to this point sink in.

This is it.

It’s all over.

Juan Carlos shakes his head before letting his shoulders drop forward so he’s resting his forehead in his palms. It’s been a long career – thirteen years professionally and he wouldn’t do anything differently. He knows it might have played out another way if it weren’t for injuries but overall, he’s happy. But what happens now? What does he do now that it’s all said and done?

“Juanqui?”

He looks up to see David’s nervous face, his hair tucked behind his ears so Juan Carlos can see every single line on his forehead as he frowns.

“Hey,” he replies quietly with a smile. He doesn’t ask him to sit down because he knows David will anyway. Their thighs press lightly and the familiar warm relaxes him a little.

“Are you okay?”

The question makes him laugh – not that it’s ridiculous (overall he is more than okay, just overwhelmed with all the support and love he has received today) but because the tone David uses coupled with the utter look of concern on his face is unnecessary yet very cute that Juan Carlos cannot help but reach for his wrist and pull him in close for a kiss.

“I’m fine,” Juan Carlos whispers against his lips but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t let up either so David’s trapped against him and they remain where they are – together, lips pressed, fingers clinging at skin.

“You know what I mean, Juanqui.”

Juan Carlos reluctantly pulls away from him but slides a hand up to his face to cup his cheek, looking into his eyes.

“For years now, whenever I tell you I am fine you never believe me. Why is that?”

David shrugs but he smiles slightly. “Because I know you. Sometimes even better than yourself.”

The sentiment rings too true that Juan Carlos doesn’t even try to argue. Instead he leans in for another quick kiss before whispering, “Let’s go home.”

*

He should have known David and Nico would do something like this. He should have anticipated it. And now here he is, standing in front of too many people – fans and peers alike – trying his best to fight back tears. The cheers, the kind words, the appreciation... It’s overwhelming, very much so.

“You’re a bastard,” he whispers against David’s neck as they hug on court with many pairs of eyes on them.

David laughs, puffs of warm breath on his skin makes Juan Carlos shiver lightly. “Just enjoy this okay?”

And he does because how can he not? All of this is for him simply because he’s hanging up his tennis shoes.

“Hey, hey, guys, wait until after tonight okay?” Nico’s voice floods them as he wraps his arms around both of them.

“Tonight?” Juan Carlos asks with an arched eyebrow as they break apart.

David laughs. “Did you really think the guys would pass up an opportunity to party?”

“Feli’s idea?”

“Of course.”

Juan Carlos lets out a put on sigh before he grins. He’s not completely done as a player just yet (he still has doubles with David) but he won’t turn down party either.

*

It’s hot. Moist. Humid. And when a hand slips into his shirt against his back Juan Carlos’ initial thought is to pull away but it’s a familiar hand. Very familiar.

“Ferru...”

Laughter fills his ear, breath hot against the shell.

“Are you having fun? Please tell me you’re having fun.”

Juan Carlos fights off the urge to turn around and kiss David right here right now in this nightclub with too many people. However, he does turn around and smile at him.

“Of course. Thank you again, Ferru, for putting everything together.”

David waves a hand at him. “It’s not over just yet. We have doubles still.”

“And we’ll win because we have you.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s a joke yet it doesn’t sound like it to his ears. And if the look David is giving him is any indication, Juan Carlos knows he heard it the same.

“Juanqui...”

“Are you to going to talking all night?” Feli yells at them as he comes up from behind and slings an arm around them. “Let’s dance!”

The subject gets promptly dropped and Juan Carlos thanks the stars above for that. He wants to enjoy this, these last few days when everyone who’s important in his life are together having fun. And he’s here with David now and that’s all that really matters. He doesn’t even want to begin to think how difficult it will be not to be on tour with him next year.

Instead, he allows himself to get dragged on the dance floor by Feli and strategically places himself behind David so when they touch no one can see it but he knows David feels it if his shivers are any indication.

*

“Maybe you can stay on circuit and play doubles?”

Juan Carlos looks up from where he is tying his shoes, freshly showered after their doubles win.

“Are you serious?”

David shrugs. “You could if you wanted, you know.”

There’s something David’s not saying and he picks up on it immediately. But they have known each other for years now. If he doesn’t want to say it (whatever it may be) then Juan Carlos won’t push him.

“Nico asked me to help him on tour next year.”

“Yeah?”

Juan Carlos nods. “I was thinking about taking him up on his offer but I wasn’t going to make a decision until later. Maybe after the Davis Cup final.”

The look in David’s eyes is sincere, open and kind. “I think you should, Juanqui. It would be good for him and you.”

There’s something still remaining unsaid but Juan Carlos just smiles.

*

With one final bow and clap to the crowd, Juan Carlos heads into the locker room one final time with David by his side. He can still here the dull roar of the crowd when the door closes behind him and it makes his heart swell. It’s finally come to an end.

They don’t say much to each other as they shower and clean up but Juan Carlos can see David looking at him through the corner of his eye. They get dressed and when Juan Carlos is buttoning the sleeves of his shirt, David knocks his hands out of the way and does it for him.

Wet strands of hair fall into his eyes as he concentrates on the buttons of his shirt and Juan Carlos doesn’t want to fight the urge to push them out of the way. So he doesn’t. David turns his face into the touch, his eyes sliding up to Juan Carlos, smiling openly.

David drives them home, silence still comfortable between them. He must have messaged Javier beforehand because there is food on the kitchen counter when they get in and it’s still warm. David banishes Juan Carlos to the living room while he gets their dinner for them. He passes him a glass of wine which Juan Carlos takes gratefully while David has juice but they still do a toast which David dedicates to him with a smile and kiss.

Later on when the food has been consumed, the wine gone, David takes Juan Carlos upstairs to their bedroom and undresses him slowly. They don’t talk about next year and what may or may not happen. They don’t discuss the possibility of not seeing each other until months down the road. Or even the possibility of Juan Carlos sticking close by if he takes up Nico on his offer.

Because right now, they aren’t worried about the future. Right now, it is them in the present focusing on making each other sigh, moan and smile the way they love the most.

If David notices how tender Juan Carlos is, their hips connecting softer than usual, if he feels the fingers that never leave his skin, if he realizes Juan Carlos’ eyes haven’t moved off his since he laid him on his back and covered his body with his – he doesn’t say a word. Not a single word and David’s okay with that.

A hand slides into David’s hair and he tips his head back ever so slightly, his lips mouthing a low oh as he feels Juan Carlos coming inside him, his own orgasm flooding through him. They don’t know how much time passes but they remain like that, pressed close together for the remainder of the night.

*

One second he is clapping along with the crowd, happy and proud, the next second he has his arms full with David who hugs him so tight that Juan Carlos forgets where he is. One hand curls around his back while the other slides into his hair, lips dangerously close to his ear, sounds of erratic breathes.

“Congratulations, Ferru.”

A puff of soft laughter hits ear and Juan Carlos can feel his lips break out into a grin.

“I did it for you, you know.”

This time it’s Juan Carlos’ fingers that tighten.

“I do know.”

Though he doesn’t want to, Juan Carlos has enough sense to pull away though he’s still smiling brightly.

“Maybe you should go to Javi and your family. They wouldn’t be so happy if I hogged you to myself.”

David doesn’t answer. Instead he pulls in him for another hug where his lips brush ever so lightly against Juan Carlos’ neck.

As he stands on the court after presenting David with the Valencia Open trophy, Juan Carlos cannot but help but slide his eyes over to him despite having his head down. There’s something about David that’s magnetic, a strong pull that Juan Carlos hopes never weakens.

fic: just hit the snooze

2012-10-09T18:54:17Z

title: just hit the snooze
pairing: jose mourinho/aitor karanka
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
this story began as a twitter conversation between miss_black91, wlanki and myself. basically, jose and aitor show up to training in each other's training shirts.

When the alarm goes off far too early for his liking, Aitor grumbles quietly as he reaches behind him to turn it off. It’s too fucking early and it wouldn’t hurt to sleep in just a little bit longer. Once his hand hits the clock, Aitor shifts further into the comforter, trying his best to catch a few more zzz’s. As soon as he feels himself floating off again, the comforter is ripped off him and Aitor’s body jerks forward.

“Get up, Aitor! You’re going to be late.”

He blinks, his face scrunched up unhappily. “Me?”

Jose smiles down at him, one towel wrapped around his hips, the other he uses to dry his hair. “Oh, I will leave without you if you don’t get up now.”

It takes Aitor a moment to become fully aware of the image that is presented before him and a moment longer to sit up and grab Jose’s wrist.

“You aren’t going anywhere without me... el mister,” Aitor says lowly as he tugs Jose towards him. He doesn’t expect him to go so easily so when Jose falls on top of him, he’s caught off guard.

Jose narrows his eyes as he stares down at him, both towels now haphazardly forgotten. “Is that so?”

Aitor doesn’t respond. Instead he curls his fingers around Jose’s jaw and pulls his face close enough to touch but not quite. He stares into Jose’s hazel grey alert eyes, knowing his own are tired and tinged with sleep. Aitor flickers his gaze down to his lips and back again before he closes the distance and kisses Jose hard.

“Aitor... I-”

But he doesn’t let up. Instead, Aitor slides his fingers over Jose’s ears and rubs the shell lightly as he presses his lips a little more insistently. He presses just above the lobes and Jose submits, opens his mouth fully and Aitor feels like it’s his birthday.

They settle against each other, Aitor underneath Jose’s naked body – the status of the towel no longer a concern for either man.

Immediately, Aitor snakes his hands around Jose’s hips and pulls him even closer, letting out a shaky groan as he feels Jose respond to him.

“Jose...”

“We can’t, Ait-”

Cut off with a kiss, Jose forgets any kind of protest that lingers on his lips as Aitor takes care of him. Instead, he moulds his body against the Basque’s, pressing his groin down onto Aitor’s, his hands plunging within soft brown hair as he kisses back hard and fast. He needs skin on skin. He needs Aitor naked.

Aitor’s thinking the same thing as he shifts his body to the side but doesn’t let go of Jose, his fingers gripping him tight. He twists and shimmies his hips until his boxers are kicked off and Jose’s warmth makes up for the discarded cloth.

Warm skin, damp hair, the smell of musk and soap spurs Aitor on and he slides a hand between their bodies, stroking Jose’s cock slowly, relishing how the Portuguese’s body is reacting already. It’s a heady powerful feeling he loves madly.

With his other hand, Aitor reaches for the lubricant and condom on the bedside table. With his head turned, he feels a wet tongue tracing its way against the curve of his jaw. Aitor laughs as he turns back to Jose.

“Impatient?”

“You started it.”

And he could hardly argue against that as he did indeed start it because whenever he sees Jose in his current state of undress he never suppresses his urges. (Why would he want to do that to himself anyway?)

With a chaste kiss to his lips, Aitor leans back and sit on his legs as he rips open the condom and slides it onto himself. Jose is smiling up at him, his coy ‘I will let you top this time’ smile.

“Lift up your leg.”

Instead of complying immediately (he is Jose after all), Jose reaches out and places a finger against Aitor’s nipple. “Say please.”

A gasp is torn from Aitor’s lips. “P-please.” He doesn’t even think about hesitating.

He wants this just as much as the Basque does so Jose shuffles his legs out from underneath Aitor and lift it high enough for him to grab. Aitor doesn’t wait any longer and pushes the limb back as he uncaps the lubricant with one hand.

When he pushes in a wet finger, Jose’s eyes don’t flicker. “I don’t need it, Aitor. Just do it.”

And then it begins. Aitor pushes in and Jose’s arching his body, the first steps of their dance flow into something so smooth and natural. Lines crease at the edge of Jose’s face as he breathes a little deeper, a little harder, struggling to keep his eyes open. Aitor inches forward and slides his fingers to curl around his neck and shoulders, bringing their foreheads together.

“Aitor...” Jose breathes out against the Basque’s lips, his neck straining forward until Aitor gives in and kisses him, just a flutter of tongue as he pushes in harder, with more purpose.

Hooking his hands under his knees, Aitor creates more space for himself to fuck Jose deeper, his fingers soothing the skin of his kneecaps. Jose has his eyes closed now, his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Jose.”

His name gets his attention and he opens his eyes to see Aitor looking down at him with such heat in his eyes, a longing, a desire. Without thinking, Jose wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes himself in time with Aitor’s thrusts. The Basque presses their lips together again but this time there’s nothing soft about it. It’s rough and bruising and if Jose was in any other mindset he would yell at him for being so reckless.

But right now, it feels incredibly good, so good it only takes Jose two – three more strokes and he’s coming into his hand, his body shivering for a moment.

Aitor pushes on his hip and turns him to face to the side, the pressure around his cock immediately tightening and it doesn’t take him long after that. He comes with a tiny shout and fingers dug into the skin of Jose’s hip, collapsing against the Portuguese after it’s all said and done.

After a minute, Jose reaches out with his clean hand and ruffles Aitor’s hair with it.

“Time for another shower?”

Jose turns his head and looks at the clock, cursing as he pushes the Basque off him.

“I am going to fine you for this.”

Aitor laughs as he takes over the warmth Jose just abandoned. “That means you need to fine yourself as well.”

Jose just glares at him.

*

They barely make it to the training ground but Jose had called ahead to Rui to tell him to start things without them if necessary. So together they make onto the pitch, heading over to where the coaching staff had gathered.

Rui’s two seconds away from making a smart remark but is shot down by Jose’s stare before he even has a chance.

The team gathers around the manager, forming a circle around him. Although heads are bowed, Jose knows they are listening to him, can see it in their body language. He knows he has their attention until there’s a ripple of laughter from somewhere from the left before it spreads quickly.

“What’s so funny, eh? That you all are okay with losing?”

It’s Iker who speaks up first. “It’s nothing. Sorry. Continue.” He shoots a glare around to his players that has most of them quietening. Well, all but Cristiano and Sergio.

When Jose shoos them off to do drills, the duo hang back for a moment.

“Did you have a good morning, mister?” Sergio asks all too innocently. Cristiano’s face is barely keeping it together.

“Yes, yes it was fine,” Jose says with a dismissal, not having time to joke around with the players at the moment.

“Aitor looks like he had a good morning too,” Cristiano laughs, his body shaking.

“What are you...”

Aitor runs up to him and whispers something into his ear that would have him blushing if he were any other man.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters under his breath, turning back to Cristiano and Sergio. “I’ll give you five seconds to return to the drills before making you run ten extra laps and you have already wasted two seconds.”

When the duo runs off leaving a trail of laugher behind them, Jose turns to Aitor and smiles sheepishly, reaching out to trace the JM on Aitor’s chest. “Oops?”

Aitor’s cheeks are flushed from embarrassment and if they weren’t on the pitch Jose would kiss him in reassurance. “We should go change.”

Jose looks down at his own training shirt and smile. “I quite like the AK and you suit my initials.”

He didn’t think it was possible but Aitor blushes even further, quite the change from earlier this morning when he was demanding Jose’s leg over his shoulders.

Swinging an arm over the Basque’s shoulders, Jose whispers in Aitor’s ear. “You can make me late and wear your clothes anytime you want, you know.”

Aitor laughs as he turns into Jose’s neck slightly. “You are impossible.”

“And you love it.”

fic: your leaving had no goodbye

2012-09-19T06:09:01Z

title: your leaving had no goodbye
pairing: david ferrer/juan carlos ferrero
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
spain's dc semi final.
for miss_black91. happy birthday, love ♥ i've decided to feed your ferru ~~addiction~~love. the fic isn't long but my list is :p title is from the xx's infinity.

The hotel room in Gijon is stuffy with the air conditioning broken but both David and Juan Carlos have faced worse conditions. David’s hyper aware of their positions on the bed, on his bed, with him sitting on one side of the mattress, his fingers fanned out against the comforter behind him. Juan Carlos is right next to him mirroring his exact position and his fingers are close, too close. David’s not sure if it’s body heat he can feel or if it’s heat from the natural sun slightly suffocating them.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Juan Carlos lets out a small laugh, his shoulders shaking enough to brush lightly against David’s.

“I had to be here.”

“But with everything going on...” David trails off, not sure if he can say it. Because if he does it’s true and the truth is something he’s not sure he can handle right now.

“It’ll all be over soon, Ferru,” Juan Carlos turns his head to look his friend in the eyes. He offers a smile, a radiant one that light up his face. “And I don’t want to miss a moment of it.”

“Will you watch on Friday?”

Juan Carlos laughs again and this time he slides his hand that’s nearest Ferru’s and covers it with his own.

“Of course I will.”

David’s attention hones in on where they are touching and it’s nothing like before. They have had their moments of reckless disregard for their friendship, where passion and heat suppressed rationality. It’s only happened a few times before but never have they talked about it.

And they don’t start today.

*

Friday rolls around and David feels a slight buzz in his body as he usually does before matches. He has always had the feeling since he was a kid and played his first match in his hometown of Xàbia and although it’s dulled from those days, it’s still very much present.

No one’s taking the tie lightly and David knows how much importance is rested on the first match. He isn’t too worried yet he’s not one to indulge in overt self confidence. So David proceeds with each one of his pre match rituals and is ready to head out on court.

The heat coupled with the cheer of the crowd, of his crowd is heady and David has a good feeling about the entire tie.

*

His back connects with the wall as he’s greeted with a kiss he has been hungry for since the last time they did this. Juan Carlos doesn’t say a word, nothing coherent anyway and David chalks it up another one of their moments of irrationality. (Although a fleeting thought passes through him that he should push Juan Carlos away and demand they talk. A fleeting thought however.)

It’s still too hot in this air-condition-less room, still too stuffy and the fact that David has just played four sets doesn’t help but he’s too weak to not give in.

It has always been an understanding between them, a silent understanding and neither man could fight moments like these.

They are the same weight but Juan Carlos has a few inches on David and uses it to his advantage as he pins David to door. (They both know David would never stop Juan Carlos from anything he wanted.)

It’s slow with the right amount of urgency. The way Juan Carlos runs his fingers carefully over David’s skin before digging them into his hips. The way David doesn’t wait for Juan Carlos to open his lips for him but instead forces them open for himself. The way they both don’t care that sweat forms quickly and clings to every inch of their bodies. The way they get lost within themselves.

It’s not until it’s said and done does David feel like it’s a goodbye.

*

Another win and another Davis Cup final. The smile on David’s lips could not be erased even if he wanted to. Body after body, everyone congratulates him on his spectacular effort with hugs, slaps on the back and kisses on the cheek. But only one person tugs on strands of his hair and David whips around quickly, already anticipating.

“You must be so used to all this,” Juan Carlos teases but he’s wearing a wide smile. “Congratulations, Ferru.” The hug he pulls David in for is all consuming.

“Thank you, Juanqui.”

Juan Carlos pulls him back far enough to look him in the eyes and suddenly the stadium and the many screaming fans fade away to a lull.

“We’ll talk after Valencia, okay?”

David wants to ask him what he means, why they can’t just talk right now but there’s a slight squeeze to the back of his neck and Juan Carlos gives him one last smile before he pushes him towards the rest of his teammates.

David’s too lost in his thoughts, his feeling, in this sudden idea of them that he only catches the tail end of Feli’s plan of tossing Juan Carlos in the air.

One last hurrah.

fic: on a feeling that i never had part 2

2012-09-10T06:42:51Z

The wind blows ever so softly as the footballers of Real Madrid train ever so diligently. There’s sound of casual chatter while the players warm up, the training staff on the edges of the pitch discussing strategy and tactics among themselves. Only Rui stands away from the others, watching from a distance with a smile on his lips.

From across the way he sees Aitor lean over José’s should to look at his notebook, listening to whatever el mister has to say. To most others, it’s just the typical interaction between a manager and his assistant.

To Rui however, he sees their shoulders brush, the way Aitor’s lips are only centimeters away from José’s ear, the way José’s eyes linger on Aitor when he looks up to speak to him.

Rui smiles, mentally patting himself on the back.

*

“Talk later?”

José asked as their lips part for air. Their faces were so close that it felt like they were sharing the same breath. He brought up a hand and ran a finger down Aitor’s cheek, trailing it across his lips.

Aitor nipped at Jose’s finger lightly, a shy smile playing of his lips.

“You want to talk now?”

José laughed, the sound ringing around the silent room. “As long as we’re on the same page I am okay right where I am.” He pulled at Aitor’s lip before bending down and kissing him. When he pulled away, Aitor’s eyes were closed, his dark lashes fanned against his skin. Something rippled inside José, a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time.

“Fine by me.”

Aitor tugged him in again and this time when they kiss, it was with purpose and no intent on letting go. Aitor shifted his body so he was resting against the couch comfortably and José followed, lifting up his body and settled in against the Basque. José crept a hand onto Aitor’s flank through his shirt though he wanted nothing more than skin on skin. He snuck his tongue into Aitor’s mouth and they were so close they could feel each other’s heart beat.

Aitor couldn’t make sense it of it. Just days ago he was all but pining after José with the knowledge firmly pushed to the back of his mind that nothing will ever come of it. Sometimes things didn’t work out the way you wanted it... yet here he was – here there were kissing like they were pubescent teenagers. And J José wanted him. Him.

*

“Good day, Gentlemen,” Rui says evenly as he strolls in behind them. Aitor pulls back a little, straightening his body.

“That it is, Rui, that it is.” José reaches out and pats him on the back.

“How was your night... Gentlemen?”

And there it is – left unsaid but in the open and ever evident with Rui’s bold smirk. He looks from Aitor to José and back again, his eyes lingering on the Basque.

“I hope it went... well.”

To Rui, it’s worth it – the fire in José’s eyes, the shit he will get later – to see Aitor’s cheeks bloom to a nice rosy red and splutter like a blithering fool.

“Rui...” José warns, his voice dangerous. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing of.”

Aitor’s eyes dart over to José and he’s no longer embarrassed... but shocked.

*

Aitor liked the heat of having someone – José – against his body. He wrapped his hands around José’s back and pulled him even closer.

Teeth grazed his lips carefully but it was gone too quickly as José lifted his head.

“Don’t get me wrong, Aitor...” He leaned in close by the Basques’s ear, letting his lips graze his ear lightly. “I want nothing more than to fuck you right now,” he bit the top of his ear gently. “And trust me, I really do. But we have training tomorrow.”

Aitor’s body shivered before he lets out a laugh. He leaned forward and rested his head in the crook of J José’s neck. Fingers slid into his hair immediately and caressed his scalp softly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Aitor laughed again. “No, you’re right. It’s late already and I should have left a while ago.” He however didn’t make a move to leave. Instead he pressed his lips against José’s collarbone and kissed it ever so lightly.

“Aitor...”

*

“Aitor?”

But he doesn’t respond. He just stares at José like he’s grown a third arm. He sees Rui shake his head before muttering to himself with that smirk still on his lips as he walks over to the players.

“Why... did you do that?”

José looks up at him puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Aitor gestures his hands wildly in the air. “That! With Rui. What was-”

José laughs. “I threaten him every training and you worry that I did it now? It just shuts him up for a few hours before he comes back with another joke no one but he finds funny.”

He’s trying to be reassuring but he can still see some uneasiness within Aitor’s demeanour.

“Look,” José reaches out and pulls Aitor in by the neck, holding him close to his body for a moment. “He’s just trying to get a reaction out of you, okay?”

Aitor’s not sure but he could swear he feels lips pressed to his hair.

*

“What, José?”

“We really shouldn’t.” Yet he doesn’t sound the most convincing and Aitor picked up on immediately.

“Okay, okay, looks like I have to be the adult.” He pulled José away from his body and regretted it immediately but knew it was the best thing to do. Together they get up from the couch and made their way to the door.

José pulled Aitor in for a hug, their bodies fully wrapped around each other. They kiss each other’s cheeks before Aitor let go to leave but José had one more thing on his mind.

“Don’t forget about our talk, Aitor. It still needs to happen.”

*

Aitor is one of those people who whenever they have a deadline or something important coming up, it’s all they can think about. He tries not to of course but it becomes difficult when José is constantly reminding him – with a friendly smile, with a curse to his defensive line, with a lick of his lips when he thinks no one is looking, with a... breath.

Aitor has it bad.

He tries to focus on other things but the other night replays in his mind without his permission. He finds himself dosing off even in training, thinking about José’s lips, smile and kiss, the way he said they have to talk before anything happens.

It’s safe to say Aitor wants the talk to happen as soon as possible. Now even.

On the flip side however, he’s scared, terrified of the possibility of having something with Jose – the ever adored José. He never thought his admiration (oh hell, affection and longing, who is he trying to kid?) would ever reach to this height and now he’s all but able to grasp what he wants the most.

It’s a horrible yet lovely realization.

*

“Why did you take off after training so quickly?”

Aitor presses his phone a little closer to his ear as he tries to fish his car keys from his pockets.

“What do you want, Rui? I don’t have time right now.”

Rui laughs. “I’m just asking because Esteban wanted to you to have dinner with us tonight and said he went looking for you but you weren’t there.”

“Oh,” Aitor says slowly, stretching out the short word. He needs to approach this cautiously. “I... can’t tonight, have plans. Maybe tomorrow?”

When Rui proceeds to ask him what is so important tonight, Aitor quickly spits out that he has to go and he’ll call him tomorrow morning before turning off his phone and sliding it into his pocket.

He has to go meet José anyway.

*

They decide to meet on neutral ground and there is no better place than the little spot by the stadium they both love. They get seated at José’s usual table, as far in the back as possible but people still turn and stare, some even greet them and stretch out their hands.

They take a seat and put in their usual orders before the conversation steers to the direction they are both here for.

“What do-”

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Every single drop of blood in Aitor’s body must rush to his face because he looks like he is hosting a bunch of tomatoes in his cheeks.

“You must not get that a lot” José is amused (but also touched that someone could be moved by such common compliments).

“Shut up, José,” Aitor mutters under his breath as he reaches for his napkin and places it on his lap. He really should be use to José’s antics by now.

José laughs as he reaches across the table and claps him on shoulder, his fingers lingers a touch too long. He squeezes lightly before letting go.

They enjoy their food in relative silence with a word here and there (mainly about mundane things like football boots and pitch quality). It is Aitor once again who tries to get the conversation to turn into the proper direction.

“I’m too old for games, José.” His voice is barely a whisper, low and gravely. The tone changes the air between them immediately.

“As am I,” José responds as he leans forward. His fingers slide until they bump against Aitor’s. He doesn’t wrap them around his, no. Instead José lets them touch casually, like he doesn’t feel the obvious spark between their flesh. “Actually, I am older.”

Aitor looks up and sees the smirk on the Portuguese’s face, a look that he has come to admire as much as the man.

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do but things are so much better when you say it in full, Aitor,” He taps his fingers carefully against warm skin. Just twice. “Say it so we don’t run into any more problems.”

It’s carefully twisted, his words, yet Aitor understands them perfectly. It’s all up to him now. He’s got the football at his toes, drawn at nil-nil with thirty seconds left. All that stands in his way is his own self confidence.

He dribbles, fast and swiftly.

“I want you, José,” Aitor’s breathes out, his eyes narrowing to see only the man before him but voice still low as he is mindful of their surroundings. The sound of blood rushing fills his ears, his heartbeat too quick in his veins. But he shakes it. “No games, no chase. I want to see where this can go... but not without purpose.”

He releases the shot, curled off the side of his foot, powerful as it sails through the air.

José’s fingers finally clench his, his grip tight while his other hand whips up. “La cuenta, por favor.”

The crowd goes wild as the ball hits the back of the netting. The crowd goes wild.

When they get into José’s car his hand doesn’t leave Aitor’s thigh, comfortable under Aitor’s own, silence tinged with anticipation all around them.

*

Everything is silent. Not a creak of a loose board or a tick of a clock. Absolute silence.

But Aitor’s heart beats so loud in his chest he feels it throughout his entire body.

Pressed against his body and the wall, Aitor leans over José and kisses the edge of his cheek, his lips lingering on warm skin. José tilts his head up, seeking more from Aitor.

(It’s funny how they just ‘assume’ their roles, with Aitor taking charge and José letting him take the reins. No discussion, no arguments. And it surprises Aitor though he doesn’t say anything. He never thought José would let him take control – and definitely not so quickly – but he’s not complaining. Not at all.)

Fingers creep under José’s shirt, trailing along soft skin and hard ribs. He pushes his body closer but nothing else. He’s in Aitor’s hands and he wants him to know it.

It doesn’t take much time for Aitor to do so. He slides a leg between José’s thighs and the shudder he feels running through the Portuguese’s creates a hunger in Aitor he’s never felt before. It makes him want to see what else he can evoke from José. He wants it all.

So he kisses him hard and the sound of teeth clicking rings in the air. José can’t take sitting back much longer and he has to wrap his arms around Aitor’s middle, pressing them as close as possible with clothes still separating them, fingers clenching tight.

“José...”

“Yeah?” He responds breathily. A fleeting thought wanders through his mind as if Aitor can feel how much he wants this.

“You...” Aitor presses a confident hand against his crotch, feeling his length growing steadily. “Are fucking hard.”

José laughs against his lips, albeit shakily. “You sound surprised.”

“What do you want?”

“Bed.”

So he leads the way, much to Aitor’s distaste because they are no longer body to body but the promise of better and bigger things is enough for him to follow without too much protest.

When they stand at the foot of the bed, José lets go of the hand he’s holding of Aitor’s before he turns his back to him and slowly begins to dress. Not seductively or anything like that. Just methodically but quickly because the sooner he gets undressed the sooner he can get Aitor out of his clothes too.

Aitor would be joining him in shedding his clothes if he wasn’t so mesmerised by the sight of José’s bare skin. He’s lighter than he imagined, sun kissed but not dark like Aitor had thought. Without thinking, Aitor reaches out and touches José’s back with the tips of his fingers.

“Aitor...” A protest. A purr. Aitor doesn’t know, neither does he care. Instead he flattens his palms against José’s back and smoothes out his hands, feeling strong muscle and soft skin under his touch.

José straightens his body and turns around, not hesitating to crush their lips together in a kiss. His own hands fly to Aitor’s clothes and he’s doing his best to not tear them off but at this point he doesn’t think the Basque would mind too much.

They both struggle with Aitor’s clothing but once it’s off, their bodies mould to each other’s immediately. Using his body, Aitor half walks half pushes José towards the bed and grins when the older man falls unceremoniously onto it, only to stalk after him like a wild cat. So José shimmies back up the mattress accordingly, allowing Aitor to join him. When he has José underneath him, looking up with wide but smirking eyes (and Aitor’s not surprised), he leans down and kisses him hard, his hands trailing every inch of José’s body.

Aitor presses his lower body against José’s and the moan he is rewarded with drives him to do it again and again. The friction isn’t anywhere near enough but it’s sweet and thrilling and they both feel eighteen again. Aitor wraps a hand around José’s cock but only to stroke it slowly, teasingly. He’s well aware they are not in their youth, no matter how they may feel at the moment. He knows José would only berate him if things end too soon.

But that doesn’t mean Aitor lets up at all.

He slides his tongue against the bottom of José’s lips, tracing the edges before he pushes past into his mouth and kisses him fiercely. There’s a tug to his hair which makes him smile. He can feel José’s resolve slips away oh so quickly.

It doesn’t occur to either one of them to slow or nor stop. This has been long overdue though they may not realize. It’s too wanted by both men.

So when Aitor curls his hand around José’s balls and José arches his body, they don’t question whether they are ready or not, if they should drag out foreplay just a little longer because really, they have a feeling neither man would be able to last longer than a few minutes.

In a low voice Aitor asks him if he has supplies. A quick thought flashed into his mind that José probably didn’t which meant they’d have to stop before this could really get going – before José cuts him off.

“Yes.”

He moves swiftly under Aitor, quick to get off the bed and around the room to find the appropriate necessities. Aitor flops onto his back and with one hand on his cock he watches José frenziedly move about the room. The fact that José wants this as much turns him on like no other.

When José locates what they need and returns to bed, he drops the condoms and lubricant at the edge of the mattress and smirks down at Aitor.

“Did I bore you?”

Aitor’s eyes flicker down to the hand on his cock and back up to José’s face, a grin of his own appearing on his lips.

“A little.”

“Well I need to change that then, don’t I?”

Before Aitor can respond, José climbs onto the bed and slides his hand over Aitor’s, both stroking his cock languidly. Aitor’s hips rock up on their own and José laughs.

“Better do this now before you go and ruin it all.”

“Fuck you.”

José just makes a non-committed mmmhmm sound.

He sits on Aitor’s thighs as he reaches for the lubricant and pours himself a good amount in his hands. Aitor’s eyes narrow as one hand closes around him, the other sliding behind José’s body. Aitor’s about to say something when José cuts him off by shake of his head. And Aitor obeys.

It becomes hard to focus after that. Aitor wishes he had three sets of eyes and as many hands right now. He wants everything. José’s fingers on him. José’s smile. José’s moans. José’s heat around him.

“R-ready?” Aitor barely gets out, his resolve slowly diminishing.

José nods in answer before he slides his hips upward. Reaching forward, he grabs a condom and rips it open, chucking the wrapper on the floor as he hastily rolls it onto Aitor’s cock.

When he positions himself over Aitor, holding Aitor just at his entrance, José lets out a shudder before sinking down on his cock, his eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. Naturally, Aitor thrusts upward, only stopping when José places the flat of his palms against his chest, his eyes whipping open.

“Slow.”

His eyes are serious but trusting and it’s too much for Aitor. He grabs a hold of José’s sides and tightens his grip. As if to say I wouldn’t hurt you. Or I want this – you – too much. He waits until José slides a little further on to his cock and Aitor loosens his fingers just a little. When he hits the hilt, José pauses for a second.

Only a second however.

“Move.”

The conviction behind his tone – his voice – has Aitor gladly moving his hips. José spreads his fingers against Aitor’s chest, liking the gentle tickles of the hair there against his skin. He moves his hips in tune with Aitor’s, not fast but not too slow that it makes either man impatient. It’s a good pace, one that has them satisfied with enough of the push and the pull.

And then suddenly Aitor thrusts in hard and José arches his back moaning as pleasure floods his body.

“More.”

Aitor obliges. How can he not? Fingers gripping hips (maybe even hard enough to leave bruises in the morning... only time will tell), Aitor fucks him with a little more purpose, not caring when little cricks begin in his neck and arms. It doesn’t matter, not when José leans down close to his ear and tells him how much he loves getting fucked by him.

“Aitor...”

The purr of his name plays as a warning sign and he shifts to grasp José’s cock between his fingers. He matches the pace of his hips with his hands and hopes that José is close because he is. Too close.

His hips stutter as he comes, hard and fast, his hips still fucking through his orgasm. José calls out, Aitor’s name steadily at his lips. And he too comes, into Aitor’s hot hand.

“Ah well-”

Aitor cuts him off as he leans up and kisses him hard, griping his body to hold him close. José bites his bottom lip before he pulls away, sliding off to lie next to him.

“Bathroom’s just around the corner. Grab a towel.”

“Towel?”

“Unless you want to carry me to the shower and wash me?” José asks with squinting laughing eyes.

“Good point.”

“Plus, towels are convenient for the next round.”

Aitor rolls his head to the side to stare at him.

“Next round?

José grins. “You have no idea, my dear Aitor.”

*

Even when he was younger he had never been the one to fuck and leave the next morning, no matter what the circumstances might have been. However, he was also one to never have too many one night stands. But even when he did, he always preferred to wake up next to warm skin, to see the eyes of his partner from the night before, to perhaps even share a smile.

When Aitor wakes up that morning, he feels before he sees, before he tastes. Fingers caress the skin of his forearm, trace slow circle patterns lazily. It’s a nice feeling that brings a smile to his lips. Slowly, Aitor lets his eyes slide open and he’s greeted by José’s thoughtful gaze. The corners of the older man’s lips curl up just slightly, a smile that’s barely there.

He takes the leap.

“Good morning.”

José now smiles openly as he strokes Aitor’s arm with a little more pressure. “Mmm, yes it is.”

Aitor laughs as he scoots his body a little closer, not thinking twice about the other man being comfortable with it or not. His face hovers over José, their lips only a breath apart.

“I thought you said ‘next round’?”

José looks at him sheepishly before he cranes his neck forward and closes the distance between their lips and kisses him softly.

“You wore me out, unfortunately.”

Aitor’s eyes flicker down to his lips then back to his eyes. He knows what José is doing – giving him the control like he did the night before. It’s odd to see but Aitor knows José will tell him only why when he wants.

“That really is,” Aitor pauses to kiss José again. “Unfortunate because I had so much I wanted to do.”

When José’s body reacts, arching just ever so slightly, Aitor smiles against his lips.

“Still tired now?”

Instead of answering, José slides his leg between Aitor’s and pushes up, rubbing against where Aitor wants him the most.

The only sounds that occur for the next little while are breathy and tinged with moans and curses.

*

“Why didn’t you pick up my call last night?”

Aitor looks up from the tactical board he’s holding to see Rui frowning at him.

“Because I was busy?”

“So you couldn’t call me back? Or leave me a message?”

Aitor laughs. There’s only one reason why Rui is acting worse than his mother. “Why? Is Granero mad at you? What did you do now?”

“Nothing!” Rui says with his hands in the air. Then suddenly his defensive demeanour drops and he sighs. “Sometimes I feel like we’re all wrong for each other.”

Not expecting Rui to actually talk about his relationship with him, it catches Aitor off guard.

“What? I thought everything is going well between the two of you?”

“It was until he started making perfect sense.”

“And you aren’t anymore. What’s going on?”

Rui sighs again before taking a seat on the grass, squinting up at Aitor.

“He’s... He’s so young yet I feel like he knows so much more than I do... Sometimes I feel like I’m trivializing his life.”

It is was anyone else – anyone – Aitor would have laughed at the silliness of the situation but Rui was looking up at him with sad eyes, like he was truly lost and unsure about something he has so tightly in his grasp.

Aitor – being the type of man he is – plunks down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I think you’re reading too much into this. Have you talked to him about it?”

“No.”

“Then?” Aitor slides his hand up to his neck and gives a comforting squeeze. “Esteban is more serious than most people his age but that doesn’t mean that’s all he’s like and I am sure you know that already.”

“What if... What if I am holding him back?”

“What?”

Rui looks down, avoiding any kind of eye contact, his fingers gently pulling at the blades of grass, emulating any five year old at a park.

“I feel like he could be so great, both on and off the pitch, yet here I am, always wanting to joke and do stupid stuff...”

“I think you’re overreacting, Rui. Do you think he would want you to be reading a book with him?”

“Actually yes.”

Aitor cracks up laughing, squeezing his neck again. “Look, talk to him okay?”

Rui sighs dramatically though he’s smiling a little now. “I just... you know?”

And when Aitor looks at him – in his eyes – he does know; the emotions behind the worrying, the feelings he can’t yet speak yet deeply feels. It’s all so clear in Rui’s eyes.

Aitor nods, clapping his shoulder gently, choosing to remain silent and let the sound of the players’ training and hollering filter in.

After a moment when they go to get up, Aitor turns his head and sees José staring at him from across the pitch. He smiles... only to realize that José isn’t returning it. His own expression falls and he begins to mouth the word ¿que? but doesn’t get the chance when José just shakes his head and turns to a group of Spanish and Portuguese players.

Aitor has a sinking feeling he has done something incredibly wrong.

It’s quiet but not out of the ordinary as Aitor slowly makes his way off the training grounds (he made sure everyone had left before him as the other members of the coaching staff had walked ahead of him).

His thoughts over take him. Something was off in training today but he could not figure out what. Karim and Cristiano, along with Mesut, worked perfectly together, reading each other beautifully. Xabi had led the midfield with Esteban and Sami, sharing his thoughts with the other two as to what he believed needed to be fixed. Everything is as it always is yet...

Aitor shakes his head to himself as he curls his fingers around the doorknob. He’s tired and going home to take a hot shower sounds about perfect right now.

But then he’s being spun around and pinned to wall, his hands collapsed against someone else’s. It takes him a moment to realize who the familiar touch belongs to.

“José...?”

“I don’t care how close you and Rui have become now, just don’t... Don’t.”

Aitor doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, can’t comprehend anything but the fact that José has him pressed against a wall on the training grounds where anyone can see them; that José has the control now; that he wants this so fucking bad.

It’s rushed and brutal but José kisses him, harsh and with intent. Aitor goes to move his fingers, desperately needing more contact; however, José does not let go. Instead, he keeps him trapped beneath him, against the door and it spurs on Aitor.

José, however, has different plans.

The Portuguese pulls away, his eyes fiery, his lips shiny and bruised. He taps Aitor’s left cheek twice with his index finger before trailing down to his lip, where he runs the pad of his finger over angry skin.

“I don’t ask for much, Aitor,” His voice is low, raspy and Aitor finds it hard to concentrate. “Just...”

“Don’t,” Aitor finishes. He looks into José’s eyes, their faces so close he can hear the other man’s low breathing loud in his ear. “I know.”

He actually doesn’t but Aitor is willing to find out.

*

When something is amiss yet you don’t know what it is exactly, nothing makes sense. Aitor watches. He’s good at it. He is quiet than most of the others on the team so no one suspects him of observing the scene, of taking in everything that may not available to the naked eye. He notices the way the players would hover around Iker, eager to catch every word he says even if it may not be about football whatsoever. Aitor notices the slight exchanges between Karim and Gonzalo, the way the Frenchman would let the other man brush his arm or rub his head while he animatedly tells a story.

And he notices the way José’s eyes would wander over Rui, his eyes narrowed, nose pinched like he’s smelling something fowl. It’s a sunny day and José’s walking alongside Zidane, clearly not listening to his assessment because he has his attention on his fellow Portuguese, on a man he’s considered his friend, family even.

It doesn’t make any sense at all to Aitor. Since he’s joined José’s coaching staff he hasn’t always been informed (there have been times where the Portuguese would walk into the locker room and instruct the players with a game plan he nor the other staff had heard of before) and Aitor knows he has a time and place for everything. But Aitor just can’t wrap his head around this.

Because he remembers the fire behind usual ice like eyes, the conviction in his voice, the grip on his body... The utter claim José had lain on his lips with the brutal kiss.

It sets a spark within Aitor when he remembers the actions from the previous day. It starts in the pit of his stomach and spreads throughout his limbs and down to his toes.

He may not know what had caused the reaction but Aitor can`t say he doesn’t... like it.

But it was so sudden, leaving him unaware because José wouldn’t choose him over a long time friend... would he?

He decides the best way around this is to approach it head on, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

So Aitor finds himself hovering in the door way of José’s office, only calming his nerves when he sees the older man reading what he figures are his notes from the day’s training session.

If José isn’t anything but a picture of cool and calm then why can’t he be? After all, Aitor is the one going to be asking the questions, not answering them.

“Hey, José?”

He looks up from his note book and Aitor swears there’s a shadow of a smile on his lips before it’s gone and he’s waved in. Aitor steps into his office and closes the door behind him, seeking all the privacy they can get despite still being in the stadium. He takes a seat in front of José and settles against the back of the chair, emitting the best picture of cool and collected he can come up with.

José closes his notebook but doesn’t remove it from the top of the desk. He leans forward onto his elbows, giving Aitor a real smile this time, though it isn’t as bright and easy going as he’s used to.

“What can I do for you, Aitor?”

It’s then Aitor realizes how much of this ‘playing-a-game’ bullshit he’s sick of, especially when they both agreed it’s not something they want to do.

“What was yesterday about?”

“Yesterday?” Not a flicker in his tone or shift in his gaze. José isn’t willing to let go of the facade just yet.

Aitor however cuts it off swiftly.

“You know what I’m talking about, José,” Aitor remains calm as he speaks but he can feel his guard rising ever so slightly. He picks at a piece of invisible lint off his track pants before continuing. “When you freaked out over something I don’t understand?”

He has crossed that line, that parallel he didn’t want to but it’s too late and Aitor finds himself determined to get to the bottom of it. He isn’t going to let the scowl on José’s face faze him.

“It was nothing,” José dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Now if you are done-”

“No, I am not,” Aitor interrupts, his body lurching forward and he feels the muscles in his neck tightening. Taking in a slow deep breath helps him settle back down... for now. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be look at Rui like you are going to murder him and you wouldn’t have rambled out that shit to me before kissing me – well biting me.” Throwing caution to the wind, Aitor reaches forward and wraps his hand around José’s, pulling it down to his. He doesn’t say anything else but look into his eyes, hoping José will see the conviction behind them.

There’s a slight twitch of fingers beneath his and when José doesn’t pull away but squeeze his grip tighter instead Aitor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he is holding.

“I’m a jealous person,” José says it so bluntly that Aitor starts to laugh only to quiet quickly when he sees the Portuguese glare at him. Aitor nods for him to continue, though he’s wearing a slight smile. “You’re important to me, as is Rui... But Rui knows – ah things – and I am sure Granero wouldn’t have liked what I saw.”

Aitor isn’t following exactly. “What you saw? I was trying to help Rui not have a break down because he’s seeing someone 12 years younger than him.” He frowns, his back straightening so he pulls on their adjoined hands slightly. “And what things?”

“Rui is asking you for advice?” His voice doesn’t hide his amusement, neither does his face.

“Of course he was. He considers me a friend and someone he can trust.”

José has the decency to look hurt though he laughs it off. “He’s probably just too scared to hear the truth from me.”

“Stop avoiding the subject, José,” Aitor is feeling very non-bullshit suddenly. “What things?”

José sighs as he pulls away and slides against the back of his comfy chair. “He and I have been friends for a very long time. He has come with me to every club I have asked him to because I know how brilliant he is.” He pauses though he doesn’t break the gaze Aitor has locked on him. “In Milan... He saved my heart.”

Aitor straightens at the words, his stomach tightening and he knows he isn’t going to like where this is leading.

“Saved?”

José nods solemnly. “There was someone... I grew really close to and Rui was the only one who knew about it. I don’t...” He gestures with his hands, “you know, too often but I felt like it was going somewhere and Rui said he could see it too. But it didn’t. It ended horribly and was a part of the reason why I needed to leave and come here.” Suddenly, his voice drops a few octaves. “Rui helped me through it. He was the only one to ever know about it... Until now.”

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask the questions that are whizzing through his head. Instead, Aitor stretches out his hand against the desk again but this time he doesn’t seek out José. He waits for him to come to him.

He isn’t disappointed when warm fingers wrap around his.

“Seeing you with him... You mean something to me, Aitor.”

And really nothing else matters.

Aitor finds himself getting out of his seat and going around the desk as quickly as he can and when he reaches José’s chair, he clutches the top of it tightly as he bends down and kisses him hard. Hands wrap around his middle almost immediately and Aitor goes willingly. He slides into José’s lap, not breaking the kiss.

He can feel so much behind José’s kiss, behind his touches. Claim. Passion. Anger. Sadness... And something else he doesn’t want to name just yet.

“When I saw you two together,” José whispers against his lips when they part slightly. “You are both important to me and for some reason I thought... what if you two... It’s crazy I know. I know you would never and Rui... Rui would jump in front a car for me. But in the moment-”

He’s silenced with a kiss. It isn’t of the same pace as moments ago; their lips move slowly against one another now, like they are taking their time, not a care in the world. All that exists are them.

José curls a hand around Aitor’s hips and pulls him in closer.

“Thank you... you know for-”

And this time it’s José who cuts off Aitor as he kisses away the unnecessary gratitude. “You don’t need to thank me as I don’t need to say sorry because it won’t happen again.”

Aitor hopes not.

“Home?”

It’s whispered against José’s lips as he soothes the words with his tongue. He doesn’t ask Aitor who’s home he means because he’s too focused on the word in itself and the prospect of being alone with the Basque in a more private setting.

“Let’s go.”

*

He knows the route by heart now, knows exactly where the street lights will come into view, exactly where José will turn. He knows exactly how long it’ll take to get back to his house.

Yet that doesn’t stop Aitor from glancing at the clock on the dashboard every thirty seconds.

They haven’t exchanged a single word since they left El Santiago Bernabeu but hangs between them is a kind of understanding, a silent agreement. It’s not uncomfortable at all and though anticipation is high (Aitor rationalizes that it’s always high when he is around José now), they aren’t pining at each other or filling the air with unnecessary words. It’s easy and Aitor loves the feel of it – like he could get used to it.

They arrive at José’s modest home shortly. Aitor half expects to be led up to José’s bedroom but instead José moves to the side when they get to the door and waves him to head into the living room. Aitor does so but steals a quick, almost shy kiss as he passes by him. He doesn’t look behind him but he knows José follows by the pitter-patter of his footsteps.

Settling on one end of the couch, Aitor reclines until his back is touching comfy cushions and soon enough he finds himself sighing as he relaxes completely. When a heavy weight settles in next to him, Aitor looks up and smiles at José who returns it.

Something has changed. It did back in José’s office and they both know it yet Aitor wants whatever it is so he presses forward and kisses the corner for José’s mouth lightly, right where his soft lips meet together (just slightly curled up in a surprised smile).

“Aitor...”

Aitor pulls back and shakes his head. “We’ve dealt with it, right? Anything else we say is just going to over complicate an already complicated situation.” He lets out a small chuckle, his eyes cautious but José knows he’s happy, content with this decision.

So it’s in the best interest of both men when José leans forward and kisses Aitor, leaving their words both said and unsaid at the feet as they edge closer to each other.

And really if Aitor has any more qualms about this, about what José has revealed (and essentially proposed) they are quiet for now because he knows nothing good has ever come out of over thinking something, even when it comes to the mastermind of football himself. Aitor has justified it in his head and he knows there’s no going back now, no do-overs because this is José and José never takes back anything he does or says.

Even if it all comes crashing down tomorrow he knows they’re in it together and that alone lets Aitor press himself that much closer to José, slide his fingers in silver hair and kiss him hard, like he’s wanted to since he laid eyes on him two years ago.

It doesn’t take much for José to let himself be settled against the couch and Aitor covers every inch of his body with his own. Lips still joined in desperate yet slow kisses, his hands slide down the front of the older man’s shirt, feeling hard muscles mixed in with patches of softness. Unintentionally, Aitor smiles against his lips and José laughs.

“Are you trying to let me know that I have let myself go?”

Aitor joins in on the laughter, licking the bottom of his lip. “Not at all, José. You have a body anyone would be jealous of.”

José raises his eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Now I know you are humouring me, Aitor. You are already on top of me so you can stop with the unnecessary flattery.”

“You are impossible,” Aitor gets in before he kisses him once again, his fingers finding José’s slight love handles. He squeezes lightly, not caring that José is trying to protest. He loves it.

They are nowhere near there yet but Jose whispers ‘upstairs’ and Aitor doesn’t think to argue. He gets off him slowly and offers a hand which the Portuguese takes with the smile that made Aitor fall oh so very hard in the first place.

He moves to the side so José can lead the way but instead he’s nudged forward so Aitor doesn’t think about what that means either. He knows where he’s going and if José is okay with that then so is he.

However once they enter the Portuguese’s room, José stops him in the middle, just feet away from the bed and turns to him.

“Please don’t tell me you want me to strip for you like we are teenagers who have never seen each other naked. Because I am sorry to inform you, José, we aren’t teenagers anymore nor have we not seen each other naked before.”

A look of surprise flickers over José’s face before he starts to laugh again. “You are such a shit, Aitor.”

Aitor shrugs though he’s grinning. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“And here I was trying to do something romantic.”

Now it’s Aitor’s turn to be surprised. He opens his mouth to say something but José just shakes his head and brings a finger to caress his bottom lip instead.

“Clothes off, Aitor and get onto the bed.”

The demand sends a shiver down the Basque’s spine but he doesn’t dare disobey the order. He does both at once, pulling off his clothes as he quickly makes his way to the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed, almost done when he feels a hand on his bare shoulder.

“Here let me.”

Before Aitor can even ask what he means, José crouches down and lifts his feet to get his socks off, first the right then the left. But he doesn’t let it end there. Lightly, José kisses the inside of Aitor’s ankles; nothing but soft butterfly kisses but Aitor doesn’t dare look away or close his eyes. He can’t.

And it doesn’t stop. José slides his lips up his left leg, letting his tongue flatten against hard muscles occasionally before switching to the other leg and leaves wicked swirls around Aitor’s kneecaps. It’s so hypnotising, to see José like this, caution abandoned and no longer cared for. Aitor has been excited since the car ride over but he’s inching just a little closer to where he wants to be.

His thighs are spread a part and this is where Aitor does let his eyes close. When José’s lips fit over the head of his cock, Aitor is buzzing. He pivots his hips forward slightly before catching himself, not wanting to catch José off guard. He can’t come like this (well he could but he doesn’t want to) but the sensation is too good to pass up at the moment. So he reaches blindly until his fingers caress soft hair and he buries his fingers in it.

A soft hum makes Aitor whip his eyes open. José’s not looking at him and he’s glad because he is not sure if he would be able to handle it. Aitor slides a hand down until he’s cupping José’s jaw and gently pulls out of his mouth. It is then their eyes lock and José’s wearing a smug smile on his slightly reddened lips. But he doesn’t say anything, just gets up and undresses almost methodically and away from Aitor. That doesn’t mean Aitor looks away. No, he watches the way José moves, the way his body moves with the light.

Then finally, José’s on him, skin to skin and everything falls into place. Aitor feels everything: José’s lips on his neck, the scratch of hair as their legs entwine, the heat of bodies too close. And when he slides into José he knows he never wants to feel anything else ever again.

It isn’t as smooth as the first time mostly because even though José loves taking it he still feels the need to instruct Aitor somewhat (the Basque suspects this is because he is José Fucking Mourinho, it doesn’t matter which position he is in, he is always in control) and Aitor just ends up laughing (after being very frustrated of course).

It is slow. But it isn’t. It is sweet. But it isn’t. Whatever it is, it works perfectly, a winning formula.

Just like Aitor by José’s side on the bench.

~el fin~

fic: on a feeling that i never had part 1

2012-09-10T06:40:36Z

title: on a feeling that i never had
pairing: josé mourinho/aitor karanka (rui faria/esteban granero)
rating: nc-17
word count: 16k~
disclaimer: fiction
summary: how it begins for aitor and ends for josé.
a/n: happy valentines day, miss_black91 :p this is far too late but you love them regardless :D the first of many mouranka fics yet to come. title is taken from frank ocean's 'novacane'

*
The day he realizes, he’s on his ass, squinting up at the bright sun.

And José’s smile.

He won’t forget that day.

*

“You need to smile more.”

Aitor looks up from his tactical board, confusion stitched on his forehead. Esteban is at his right shoulder, his interest shifting gears.

José shrugs. “You’re too serious all the time. Lighten up.”

It makes Aitor laugh which is exactly what José was aiming for.

“I am trying to prep the squad for Barça, not win a smiling competition.”

“Who knows? Maybe you can get them to forfeit with your teeth.”

The best thing to do is to tell José where he can shove his own teeth but Aitor doesn’t. Aitor never would.

Instead he smiles bright and wide. “Better?”

José nods, his own smile shining through his ice like grey eyes.

*

Aitor learns quickly that every little thing do you, positive or negative, is under the great scrutiny of the public, even more so when you are a part of the coaching staff of the biggest club in the world. And it sticks with them no matter how much you try to change their mind. He’s had articles written about him before, his photo taken here and there during his career. But now, as assistant manager of Real Madrid, as José Mourinho’s right hand man, Aitor feels like he can’t even step out of his house with bright flashes mixed with the whirl of clicking.

It’s not that he doesn’t like or appreciate it, that others care about him so much. It’s just... different.

*

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Rui looks at him through the edges of his glasses, so low on his nose Aitor think they’re going to slip off any second.

“Well hello to you too, Aitor.”

“Hello, you fucking idiot.”

Rui just looks annoyed now. “Could you please tell me why you keep insulting me?”

“You couldn’t take him out more discreetly? Or how about just inviting him over to your place? Why would you ever think it was okay for you and Esteban to go to a restaurant... a fucking romantic one at that?”

The shade Rui’s cheeks turn could rival the colour of Cristiano’s new boots. Rui looks down as he rubs the back of his neck before speaking. “Uh, how did you find out about that?”

“Papers, Rui. Of course they don’t think it was a date. No, they think Esteban is trying to play favourites to get his way into the starting eleven.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Exactly.” Aitor isn’t being completely supportive right now but he needs to get his rage out when he saw the front page of Marca claiming Esteban is wining and dining his way onto the pitch. “When you told me you asked him to dinner...”

Rui’s head flies up and he looks around frantically. “Jesus, Aitor! Could you speak any louder? I confided in you for a reason, not so you could blab it to everyone just because you’re mad at me!”

Suddenly, Aitor feels pity for him. He’s one of the few people who know about Rui and Esteban. It isn’t something they want leaked and though luckily no one suspects what they were really up to, the stories don’t help their own images or the clubs.

“I’m sorry,” Aitor says as he reaches out and rubs Rui’s shoulder lightly. “You know the media are going to ask you about it so address it quickly and swiftly and the next time you want to meet him for dinner you keep it to yours or his place.”

Rui looks up, his eyes still worried but he laughs. “God, you sound like José.”

And that leaves Aitor puzzled for the remainder of the day.

*

Out of habit he picks up on the first ring.

“We’re going to watch the cantenero play today. I will pick you up in thirty minutes.”

Aitor would be surprised if it were anyone but José.

“José...”

“You don’t want to? It’s part of your managerial expectations.”

“Stop making things up.”

José’s laughter filters over the line and Aitor relaxes against the mattress.

“I am not. It’s what coaches do. But I know it is last minute. I can drag Rui instead.”

The covers are off his body before he even thinks about it. “No, no. You said thirty minutes? Get me coffee and I’m yours.” He doesn’t think about what he just said until after he hangs up the phone and proceeds to inwardly curse himself.

They watch the match; well, Aitor watches while José criticizes but Aitor wasn’t expecting any different from him. It’s bright and sunny out but the wind tickles enough for both of them to be bundled in jackets and scarves. It is late November after all. Aitor sips on his coffee while José nods along with the match.

“Who do you think we should call up for the next match?”

It takes Aitor a minute to process that. “You’re asking me?”

José chuckles before he thumps Aitor on his arm lightly. “Of course I am! Why else did you think I brought you here with me? This isn’t a date, Aitor. We’re making managerial decisions!”

The use of his ‘is it a real word or not’ word makes Aitor miss the important part of that sentence but when it finally sinks in, he turns to José.

“What?”

“So who do you think? I like...”

Aitor doesn’t hear the rest of it, or not completely. If there’s one thing he has learned about José is that he chooses his words carefully. So fucking carefully.

His mood is ruined for the rest of the day and he blames it on the coffee.

*

They go for dinner: Aitor, José and Rui. José decides that they need a tactical meeting but he didn’t want to hang around the training grounds. So they all meet up much later and go to Aitor’s favourite restaurant (a little bistro about fifteen minutes away from El Bernabeu where the owner is afraid of José but still respects him greatly so they always dine indiscretion there).

They end up wandering into conversations about personal life instead of professional and it’s probably one of the first times Aitor lets his guard down with Rui and José. He’s been nothing but professional when wearing that crest on above his heart and even when he’s not. He always remembers that he represents the club no matter what he does but he lets go, just enough for Rui and José to learn that Aitor sleeps in on days off, likes 80s pop instead of rock and dislikes the fact that there are no beaches in Madrid (he and Cristiano had an hour long conversation about it one time). It’s not significant. It isn’t.

Rui leaves shortly after they have consumed their meal (the fact that Esteban had come to pick him up doesn’t go unnoticed but both José and Aitor don’t comment on it – they’ll wait to tease him during training).

“Call it a night?”

Aitor looks at his watch and lets out a bark of a laugh. “Shit! It’s later than I thought.”

José shrugs. “It’s not that bad. We can have a cup of coffee at my place if you want?”

Aitor feels it’s a little ridiculous, for José to ask, for himself to feel utterly thrilled at the fact he did ask. But he remains nonchalant as he brings his elbows to rest on the table.

“Your choice, mister.”

José laughs. “You call me that outside of the pitch again and I’ll kill you.”

Aitor couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

He’s been here before albeit once or twice.

(It’s actually twice and he remembers the exact times and reasons. The first time was when José first became manager and he had his new coaching staff over dinner to get to know everyone better and to be on the same page about the club, goals and direction wise. The second time... Aitor somehow got suckered into picking José up and drive him to training one morning when the Portuguese’s car broke down. Aitor will never forget it because it ended up being the day the corner of José’s lips curled up at the same time his eyes did. The smile is something he’ll always cherish.)

Everything is neat and clean, almost like the maid just finished up before they get back from dinner. José leads Aitor into the family room, tells him to take a seat before he disappears. It’s an automatic reaction when Aitor begins to look around. Photos of smiling children adorn most of the mantle, along with few tasteful art pieces that are scattered across the room. There is not a single sight of silverware anywhere and for some reason Aitor likes that.

It’s how he sees José.

“Sugar?”

Aitor snaps out of thoughts to see José stroll in with two cups of café con leche, an easy smile on his lips.

“No, thank you. I usually take it without.”

“As do I.”

Aitor thinks it’s silly that he feels warm so he blames it on the drink.

José’s voice is low, low enough to add a nice rumble. Aitor likes it when he says mas and básicamente. José’s jaw drops as does his voice and it captures Aitor’s attention like nothing else. Well, the way José cards his fingers through his hair when he laughs his pretty distracting as well. And how he licks his lips every time before he speaks, as though speaking dries them outright. Or...

“Aitor? Are you tired? Or am I boring you?”

He has his trademark smirk on his lips, like when Cristiano celebrates a goal in a ridiculous manner or when a reporter asks him for the 10th time how he feels about Barça’s result every other night.

There are a few ways Aitor could answer (bite, lick, kiss).

“No, no, forgive me. I just remembered something.”

José’s eyes narrow but he’s still wearing that smile. “Ah, I see.”

When Aitor drives home that night he wonders if José really does.

*

“This is awkward.”

Rui glares at Aitor who tries his best to suppress a laugh as Esteban takes a seat next to the Portuguese native on the couch at his home, although he puts enough space between them that has the Basque howling.

“I would have no idea if you two were in a relationship or not. Right now it just seems like Esteban is afraid of you, Rui.”

Rui sighs. “This was a bad idea. I knew this was a bad fucking idea.” He gets up and exits the room, leaving Aitor alone with Esteban.

“You know, he thought we could trust you.”

Aitor sits up straight, his body rigid and defensive. “He can. You both can.”

“It’s not easy for us and because you’re really one of the only people who know, we thought it would be okay to... you know, be ourselves,” Esteban looks down at his hands, following the lines that adorn his palms. “He really values your opinion. Especially on him.”

That catches Aitor by surprise. He and Rui formed an easy friendship from the start. Rui’s not as quiet as he once was due to working with José Mourinho over all these years; he had learned to be loud, forthright, and witty but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate Aitor’s tranquility.

But never once did Aitor get a sign that Rui entrusted him so completely.

“I... I didn’t mean-”

“I know you didn’t,” Esteban lifts his head and offers a smile that tells Aitor to not over think things. “There’s a reason why you’re sitting on this couch and not José even though he’s known José for so much longer and better.”

“José wouldn’t have any-”

“No, he wouldn’t but he’s not as easy to speak to about this, is he? Oh he would support us but he won’t give us much more than that. He knows it too.”

Aitor never thought of it that way. José’s emotions and character aren’t as easy to read as the media would like to think. There are times happiness, joy, sorrow, anger and everything between could easily be etched onto his features yet ten seconds later a mask of cool slips in, overshadowing everything else. However, José has always made himself available to his team if anyone needed someone to speak to. He made it essential for the club to know this the day he became manager.

“I don’t know, Esteban. I think you should give him the benefit of doubt. He has always said-”

“He’s right.”

Aitor whips around to see Rui leaning against the door frame, his demeanor tense yet defeated at the same time.

“Opening up to José isn’t easy because he remains so closed off you feel stupid while you’re speaking to him,” Rui shrugs before he pushes off the door and walks up behind where Esteban is sitting and places his hands on his shoulders. “Try it next time. Try to talk about something that matters to you and he’ll cut you off.”

Aitor shakes his head. “José can’t be like that. There’s no way.”

Rui smiles sadly. “Try it.”

And that is how things truly begin for Aitor and José.

*

There are days Aitor wishes he was still playing the game he loves with his entire heart, body and soul. Players with Cristiano’s and Iker’s passion and dedication make his heart swell whenever he sees them fight for the club every match. He misses that feeling, that want and hunger. He misses the burn in his thighs after a good hard training session and the way his fingers would twitch nervously before an important match (they still do – José’s noticed the way his fingers would jump before a match against Barça every single time and has laughed at him every single time).

But he wouldn’t trade this experience of being a coach for a club like Real Madrid either. Aitor’s lucky and he knows that.

“What are you thinking about?”

José’s smile floats before his eyes and Aitor returns it. It’s easy.

“Just remembering my days of when I was like Albiol.”

José laughs, his face splitting into a grin. “Not Carvalho?”

Aitor shakes his head, suppressing his own laughter. “If I had half of his talent I would have twice as better career.”

He expects a chuckle, a smirk, something other than the stony silence José gives him.

“You underestimate yourself and that’s the problem.”

When he walks away Aitor doesn’t understand what went wrong.

*

It’s ridiculous.

Real Madrid is on their way to another comfy win and all Aitor can think about is José. He’s making jokes and smiling and laughing and is just so free Aitor doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. José enthusiastically gestures with his hands, waving them in the air, as he recounts a story about his son.

And it’s ridiculous how he stares at José’s lips and wonders what they’d taste like. Aitor suspects like minty gum because the Portuguese man always happened to be chewing on it. He doesn’t mean to stare but somehow his eyes always travel to his pink lips and he gets lost in thought, no matter where they may be – and a football match is no exception.

(And really, he’s thought about it; what it would feel like just to lean over and kiss José. Would José protest? Would he push him away and ask him what the fuck Aitor is doing? Would he fire him? Because Aitor feels like that could be a reason for expulsion. Hell, he’d probably leave himself after doing that becau-)

“Aitor... Aitor!”

It doesn’t help when Aitor snaps out of it José licks his lips as he places his hand on his thigh to get his attention. Aitor becomes hyper aware of his surroundings and sits up stiffly in his seat. He doesn’t know if he should shake off José’s hand or not.

Why is his hand still on his thigh?

“Uh... Yes?”

“You weren’t listening to a thing I was saying, were you?” José is smirking so he’s not mad and when he finally retracts his hand, Aitor misses it.

“No no,” Aitor stumbles over his tongue as he tries not to turn completely red. Rui’s eyes are on him as well and there’s something in them. He’s staring him with such intensity. “I just-”

Luckily Cristiano cuts him off with a beautiful goal and no one knows anything else but cheers and happiness.

*

“How long?”

Rui corners Aitor after the match. Aitor isn’t sure what he means.

“How long have you liked José?”

“I... What?”

And really, Aitor just wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He doesn’t want to talk about this with anyone and definitely not Rui. Even hearing him asking about it out loud is foreign to his ears.

“It’s okay,” Rui says quietly, his eyes still intense. “I just... It’s José, you know? I have known him for a very long time so if you-”

And Aitor cuts him off because this is a conversation he’s never going to have. Ever.

“I think you’re imagining things. And we need to hurry up and go to the press before they make up stories instead.”

He pushes past Rui, smoothing his flowing hair as he leaves and heads to media room.

(And when he goes home later on that night, he pushes the thought of José out of his mind completely because nothing is ever going to happen. He is his boss, the coach of Real Madrid and Aitor isn’t going to fuck up his own career just because he has feelings for the man. He’s smarter than that.)

The most troubling thought he has when he goes to sleep that night is he realizes he has feelings for the Portuguese...

*

He begins to notice things more and more every day. Like the salt and pepper colour of José’s hair and how his nervous habit is to run his fingers through it when he’s too lost in thoughts of formation and strategy. He also notices how much more relaxed and friendly José is with everyone, constantly joking and laughing with the players and staff alike.

Aitor also notices how Rui is always suddenly around José at any given opportunity.

And he realizes it’s ridiculous to be jealous of Rui because they share a friendship that has lasted many years and throughout different clubs but Aitor cannot help but feel prickly when Rui leans in and whispers something into José’s ear that makes the older man laugh, his entire face lighting up like glow sticks at a pop concert.

It’s ridiculous for numerous reasons and Aitor tells himself to get over it.

However it is harder said than done.

“Aitor... Hey, Aitor!”

He cuts his eyes over to Rui who looks like he’s two seconds away from bursting out laughing.

“...What?”

“You look like you were remembering something that makes you really angry so your face was all creased,” Rui says with a grin.

And Aitor doesn’t know what provokes him but the words fall out of his mouth.

“Have you and José... ever been together?”

“W-what?” Rui chokes as his face turns from jovial to shock almost immediately. “You’re joking, yes?”

Aitor instantaneously feels ashamed and stupid. He ducks his head to look at his shoes. “Just ignore I asked that okay?” He turns to leave but a hand on his wrist stops him.

Rui forces Aitor to look him in the eyes. His are dead calm now.

“Tell me why you want to know or even care.”

“I...” It’s a trap – a fucking trap – but Aitor got himself into this and it is going to be pretty difficult to get himself out without telling the truth. “No reason.”

“Aitor...” Rui sighs as he lets go of his wrist. “Why won’t you admit it? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” When Aitor doesn’t respond Rui smiles sadly. “No, José and I never did anything. He’s my mentor and the reason why I am here today.”

“I...” Aitor doesn’t really know what to say. He feels like a complete fool just because a rush of jealously filled his body before rationality did. “I’m sorry, Rui... I-”

Rui smiles wistfully. “José’s a good man, if you ever get over yourself and talk to him.”

“I always talk to him.”

“About this?”

Aitor stays quiet. He’s starting to hate himself a little.

“Look. It’s really up to you what you want to do, tell him or not. All I am saying is that maybe telling him is the best thing you could rather than keeping it to yourself,” Rui pauses for a moment then smirks. “If I noticed then maybe he has too.”

And really, how can he think of anything else after that?

*

Esteban tries to tell anyone who is willing to listen (which isn’t too many) about the vintage typewriter he found online. It’s in England and he will need to go pick it up (one simply does not ship a vintage item like this). However out of everyone in the room, Aitor is the only one is actually paying attention to him until...

Until from across the room he sees Cristiano pull up one leg of his shorts and point to his thigh, his other hand gesturing wildly while he spits rapidly in Portuguese. Next to him José leans in touches the strong muscle, digging his fingers in lightly.

Aitor knows – knows – it’s nothing; they are discussing a strain Cristiano has been feeling in upper leg for a few days now. But what he’s feeling in the pit of his stomach must reflect on his face because when José looks up and catches his eye, the Portuguese man’s eyes light up with surprise.

Aitor leaves the changing room immediately.

“Aitor... Are you-”

Aitor looks up from his desk, his face tight and strained. He tries to smile at José who looks incredibly worried (and Aitor would be warmed by the sentiment if he didn’t still feel ashamed by his earlier actions) but it comes across as a grimace instead.

“José.”

“What’s wrong, Aitor? You just...”

José doesn’t finish. Instead he takes a seat from across Aitor’s desk, folding his legs in front of him. His eyes are warm, calm but intense at the same that Aitor looks down at his hands almost immediately.

“You’ve been acting different lately, Aitor...”

He doesn’t know why but Aitor forces himself to look up, to face the man who has the balls to come here and confront him. It’s the least he can do.

“Did I do something? Are you not happy?”

Aitor bites out a laugh which to his own ears sounds forced and hollow.

“I... I am fine, José. It’s nothing.”

“Aitor...” The Portuguese man starts again. “Explain to me what that was in the locker room.” His voice is steady now, like he demands Aitor to obey.

A shiver runs through his body.

“It was nothing.”

“Aitor.”

It’s a warning. A warning that Aitor can’t help but feel attracted to.

He averts his gaze before speaking. “Have you ever been attracted to someone you’re not supposed to be?”

There’s silence and Aitor knows José understands. He’s a smart man, one of the most intelligent people Aitor has ever met. And he didn’t exactly hide his words in a puzzle. Aitor’s tired of games, even if it’s with himself.

When silence stretches for a little longer than Aitor is comfortable with, he sighs before burying his head in his hands. “I’ve made a fool of myself again,” He mutters to himself, feeling defeated and embarrassed. He clears his throat though he doesn’t lift his head. “Just forget what I said, okay and I’ll leave as quickly and quietly as I can.”

“Leave to where?”

The sound of puzzlement in José’s voice gets his attention and he finally looks up, greeted with a confused look on the manager’s face.

“To... Don’t you want me to leave? After this?”

“After what? You’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t want me to leave... even if I-”

José cuts him off as he stands up. “You are not going anywhere until I tell you. You belong here in Madrid.”

When he walks towards the door, Aitor swears he hears with me. But he doesn’t hold hope within words he may or may not have heard. He won’t do that to himself.

“You are a fucking idiot,” Rui says when he tells him what happened later that evening.

(Okay, so he didn’t tell him willingly. Instead Rui showed up to his home, wondering what had happened exactly because José had looked frazzled and unbalanced when he was leaving the training grounds that day. Aitor doesn’t know what to do with that piece of information.)

“You’re right. About that and that he shuts down. He didn’t want to talk about it which I didn’t either but... It’s like I know he knows what I meant but he made no real acknowledgement of it.”

“Ah,” Rui smiles sadly. “Welcome to the real José Mourinho.”

*

His skin prickles with embarrassment whenever José is around now but he cannot help it. It’s like an allergic reaction that has been programmed into his brain. He knows. Of course he does. Aitor told him in not so many words and now Aitor has to live with that knowledge. That José knows... And doesn’t care.

That’s what hurts the most.

“You are looking a little tired today, Aitor,” José says with his usual smile, his eyes crinkling by the corners. (It’s a little silly that Aitor wants to reach up and rub the tiny lines away with his thumb.)

Aitor returns the smile though it isn’t as bright. “It’s getting warm at night now. I couldn’t sleep properly.”

José laughs. “Well, invest in air conditioning. I cannot have my assistant coach looking haggard. What will the players think, hmm?”

His eyes linger on Aitor for a second too long and Aitor feels his skin prickle again, this time with a different emotion.

It hasn’t been an easy two weeks. After the discussion (or lack thereof) they shared in his office, Aitor’s mind hasn’t been able to turn off. Buzz buzz buzz whirl whirl whirl. Too many thoughts were crammed into his head like butterflies in a jar. Why did he tell him? What good ever comes out of telling the person you are infatuated with your feelings for them when you know it will never be reciprocated? Aitor had mentally beat himself up over it until he poured himself his third glass of wine one night ten days ago and decided it could be worse... José hasn’t ignored him nor treated him any differently. He has still been his friendly, sarcastic self.

It is just hard for Aitor. He feels guilty... yet not, in the same sitting.

“What do you suggest I do, mister?” He knows he’s being a smug bastard but it’s easier this way.

José smirks and looks like his about to chirp back a reply when suddenly his expression changes so quickly, Aitor is confused. Now José smiles kindly and reaches out to pat Aitor’s shoulders.

“Take it easy today, okay? Maybe just watch from the bench?”

Aitor shakes his head, shocked yet touched. José cares about his wellbeing?

“No, no. I should be fine. I just won’t join in the running today like I usually do.”

José narrows his eyes and stares for a moment before shrugging. “If I see you over doing it, you’re sitting out and that’s that.”

He walks away and Aitor is floored.

*

It’s too hot so José pulls at his collar.

Then kisses his neck.

And bites his collar bone.

And Aitor feels like he’s dying. Like he’s slowly leaving his body and watching himself down below as he floats away from the earth.

José has him up against the wall, his knee between Aitor’s legs, his lips doing incredible things to his neck. A hand plays with the hem of Aitor’s shirt and his breath hitches.

He wants it so much. Everything.

When José’s hand slips into his pants, the shrill sound of his alarm clock shocks him awake.

Well, damn.

*

“You’re telling me you can’t go to dinner because you have to work in your garden?”

Rui looks at José skeptically, his eyebrows raised all the way to his hairline while Aitor watches quietly from the other side of the office.

José laughs as he pushes his glasses further onto his nose. “It’s crazy right? And unlike me, I agree. But I have decided to eat healthier and starting a garden makes perfect sense, no? I am old now; I have to watch what I eat otherwise I’ll die quicker than I’d like to.”

Rui stares at him for another moment before turning on his heels and exiting the office, muttering something about crazy hippies.

“You’re not old.”

José turns his smile to Aitor who quickly looks away, like a child would after yelling out a curse word among a crowd and then attempting to hide. The Portuguese lets out a huff of laughter.

“You don’t need to compliment me when it’s just the two of us, Aitor,” José grins, his eyes teasing. “Save it for when Rui’s around. Always challenging me he is.”

Aitor lets him ramble on for a moment before the room falls silent again.

“I’m serious. You’re pretty healthy as it is. You run half the drills along with the team. I really don’t think you need to be healthier than what you are now.”

The tips of his ears turn unsightly red as José just stares at him, his eyes intense, soul searching. This isn’t the first time he has wanted to retract his statement and hell this won’t be his last. He’s about to make amends when José smiles again, reaches forward and taps Aitor’s not-so-smooth cheeks.

“Remind me to call you before every meal. You can be my... consultant.”

And then he does something completely catches Aitor by unawares. He kisses the soft skin of Aitor’s cheeks (although he has not shaved) before turning away without another word.

At this point, Aitor feels like it’s slipping out of his hands.

*

Time continues. Of course it does. They have a world class club they need to worry about after all. The Champions League Quarterfinals are just around the corner and it’s time to buckle down and focus.

“Esteban... Esteban! Run faster!” Aitor hollers at the young man before dropping his voice so only the man next to him could hear. “Otherwise no sex for you and Rui for a week.”

José laughs as he scratches his nose. “It’s still a little surreal that they are together, you know?”

Aitor’s a little surprised that José want to discuss Rui’s and Esteban’s relationship because Rui had made it seem like the older man didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Aitor shrugs his shoulders before turning to face José. “It is but they work in some weird way. Esteban has always struck me as a wise young man for his age and Rui... Well Rui needs someone unlike him.” Aitor pauses to let out a slight chuckle. “Sometimes, Esteban is the bigger adult than Rui.”

José’s face breaks out in a grin, his teeth bare. “Rui’s young at heart, always has been. That’s what I have always liked about him. He never takes life too seriously.”

“Until he’s getting thrown out of matches.”

“Well, he’s passionate which is never a bad quality.”

“As is Esteban. I passed by him and Xabi one day and they were in a deep conversation about planets and planetary movement. Was it weird? Definitely but he was so engrossed in the conversation that he was carrying most of it. He is an intelligent man.”

José turns his head slightly to lay his eye upon Rui who was working closely with Kaka. “I have known him for many years now and I still remember the day I met him. He has always been brash and outgoing, it’s what made him standout compared to the rest. He was never afraid of speaking his mind although he may not be the most knowledgeable.” He slides his eyes back to Aitor, smiling slightly. “And Esteban is his exact opposite: quiet, polite and highly intelligent. God knows what their conversations besides football would be about but I am happy for them.”

There isn’t much Aitor can say because this is the opposite of what Rui said about him, that he wouldn’t be open about other people’s feelings, that he’d shut down. Aitor has never seen him so open and especially about other people he cares about.

And when José lays a hand on his shoulder, letting it linger before he pushes Aitor and tells him to gather the defenders together, Aitor wonders how much of the man he still has yet to see.

*

“You know, José was seeing a young man in Milan when we were there.”

Aitor tries not to glare from across the table where he and Rui are sat having lunch.

“And the point of you telling me this is?”

“If you’re worried about him not liking men or that he wouldn’t see you in that way...” Rui trails off when he sees Aitor twist a poor defenceless napkin between his hands.

“Look. I don’t need or want relationship advice from you, okay?”

“But you and José aren’t in a relationship... Yet.”

“Rui...”

“Okay, okay,” Rui backs into his seat, chuckling quietly. “I just don’t know why you won’t even pursue it. I know José isn’t the most open person but he seems a little more relaxed lately, smiling more. I think now is the time.”

Aitor looks down at his food, the meat half eaten scattered along the leaves of lettuce. “I don’t know, Rui. Just leave it.”

But of course, the thought lingers in the back of his mind.

*

“Aitor, dinner at my place tonight at 10. Bring a good bottle of wine and don’t be late.”

Aitor looks up from his desk over to the doorframe of his office where José leans against, dressed in the club’s training gear, his graying hair fluffy and well kept (except for the few strays that always seem to never be under control).

“...What?”

José crinkles his nose but laughs at the same time. “I’m inviting a few people over for dinner so you better show up.”

Aitor accepts with a feeling of disappointment heavy in his limbs.

He wonders what José was like when he was younger. Aitor can see him being a playboy, in the sense that he would get attention from boys and girls everywhere he’d go because of his good looks and confidence. He wonders if José was the type of man to frequent nightclubs. However, because José doesn’t seem to be one who needs false admiration (though a luring look from seductive eyes always did Aitor in... when he was younger).

José works the room perfectly. There are only five other guests but Jose never leaves one long enough to have them feel uncomfortable despite everyone not knowing each other well. Aitor has Rui at least and he’s thankful for that, no matter how disappointed he may be.

“Great choice of wine, Aitor,” José’s purrs into his ear as the older man comes up from behind him and pulls him in for a slight-side-hug.

The heat from his body, the sheer fact that he’s so close to José he can smell him is doing nothing for Aitor except embarrass him. He clears his throat before pulling away regrettably.

“Ah well, no one knows wine like me.”

“Oh really?” José asks with the rise of an eyebrow. Aitor’s eyes do a quick sweep of him from head to toe. All black, causal in a t-shirt and slacks. He looks perfect. (He always does).

Aitor takes a sip of the said wine from his glass before nodding. He can do this. “My uncle used to own a vineyard in Bilbao. It’s said that his father knew Marques de Riscal,” Aitor laughs and takes another sip. “Anyway, as a boy during the summers I would run around his vineyard attempting to help him though I didn’t do much more than cause trouble. My first drink was with my uncle and we had the finest glass of Marques de Reserva. I didn’t appreciate it then but I do now.”

Smiling fondly, José nods as he gestures to Aitor’s glass. “May I?”

And before he even knows what Jose is asking of him exactly he says yes. José reaches forward and wraps his fingers around Aitor’s and pulls the glass towards him. Eyes locked on each other, Jose leans in and takes a sip carefully, pulling away only when necessary though he doesn’t drop his hold on Aitor’s hand. He swirls the wine around his tongue before swallowing, his eyes dangerous now.

“This is Gran Reserva, no?”

Aitor nods dumbly, like his head is on a bobble.

“I have a different bottle in my collection... in my wine cellar, if you’d like to... taste?”

The question hangs in the air but only for a heartbeat before Aitor breathes out a yes.

He tries to focus his eyes on anything other than José’s back side as he follows him to the wine cellar apparently but it’s awfully difficult to do. Especially when José’s wearing the trousers that hug his thighs and ass so perfectly.

Aitor suddenly has no idea what he is doing. His mind is racing with a hundred and one thoughts. What were they going to do? Was it really just to check out wine? Once they were alone, what if Aitor lost control? What if...

A warm body collides with his, back to front and Aitor’s cheeks burn with embarrassment when José turns around, smirking at him.

“Eager for wine, Aitor?”

Aitor tries to laugh but it sounds mangled and strained. José just smiles even wider.

“I picked up many different wines in Italy, so rich and full of body. Do you prefer red or white?”

Aitor frowns. “Red.” He hopes this isn’t entirely about wine.

“I like a good white from time to time, especially in the summer time near the beach.”

And Aitor can see it. José is on the beach somewhere in Portugal, his hair ruffled gracefully by the wind, his body and demeanour relaxed against a lounge chair as the waves crash against the rocks in front of him. He would be holding a wine glass by the stem and swirl around the pale liquid before bringing it to his lips for a taste.

He wants it so much.

“Aitor?”

His eyes find José’s and he’s no longer looking smug, but serious with a tinge of innocent sincerity shaded in them. “Do you still...?” José nods his head in the direction of the door.

“Of course.”

They go inside and it is impressive. The room isn’t very large but from floor to ceiling rows and rows of wine bottles line the walls. Aitor’s eyes dart in all directions, drinking in the sheer brilliance of the collection.

“José... Wow.”

José lets out a little chuckle. “Do you like it?” He walks past Aitor but not before curling his fingers around his wrist lightly and pulls him forward as he goes. (A tiny tremor runs through his body but Aitor hopes – prays – José doesn’t notice.) José leads him to a section in the corner, where the little cubby holes have covers on them.

“I am a man,” José starts with a coy little smile on his lips, “who believes wine is made to be drunk, not preserving like some do. However,” He pauses again to reach for a bottle underneath the slip. Aitor follows his hands with his eyes and it feels anticlimactic when he pulls out a dark wine bottle. “My favorite wine I haven’t had in twenty... five years.”

It is an Argentine Malbec from 1967, the year the grapes in Argentina only produced three barrels of wine. Not even Aitor’s uncle had this hands on that.

“You’ve had that before?” Aitor asks, not even attempting to hide the awe in his voice. “It’s one of the hardest wines to come across.”

José nods. “A man has his ways, Aitor...” Their eyes meet and there’s something hidden in José’s though his intentions are clear. He caresses the top of the bottle lightly, running his fingers down the spine. “Care for a taste?”

“You would open it for me? Really?”

“Oh Aitor,” And José sounds a little sad, like he just heard some bad news. He reaches out with a free hand and touches Aitor’s cheek lightly, caressing the soft skin with the back of his hand.

Aitor freezes where he is, not able to move even if he wanted to. His breathing is too loud and it’s what he focuses on because if he didn’t he might do something incredibly stupid.

“Why me, Aitor?”

“W-what?”

“Out of everyone, why me?”

Aitor cannot believe they are having this conversation and here of all places. In a fucking wine cellar. The center of his palms begin to itch and slight sweat. He wipes them against his pant leg.

“José, maybe we should get back-”

Cornered, José presses Aitor against one of the walls and all he can think of is ‘don’t break the bottles!’ Because really, if he thinks of José looming over him, a bottle of the most expensive Malbec between their bodies being the only barrier preventing them from touching, stomach to stomach, there might be wine all over the floor rather shortly.

“You don’t want to talk about this now, Aitor? You wanted to that day.”

He’s not accusing. His eyes are still warm, friendly and mesmerizing that Aitor has to close his own and take in a very deep breath.

“José... It was nothing.”

“Open your eyes and say that.”

It’s a long pregnant pause before Aitor exhales and lets his eyes meet José’s.

“Tell me you’re not attracted to me.

“José...”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” Aitor has no idea where this is leading but he doesn’t like whatsoever.

“Ask me if I find you attractive.”

His breath hitches in his throat and though the sound is very low José’s eyes flicker to his lips when he hears it.

“Jose... I-”

“Ask me.” And really there is no room for argument.

“Are... Are you attracted to me?”

Aitor expects a no and hopes for a yes but what he gets is the bottle of Malbec pressed against his stomach just under his ribs so it’s slightly uncomfortable and then José’s sliding his lips against Aitor’s and he can’t think of anything else. His arms come around the Portuguese, around his upper arms and he tries his best to pull him close as he can.

It’s not a hungry kiss, not one that makes them want to forget about the guests and shed their clothes right then and there. No, it’s a gentle, exploring kiss and José shifts so the bottle of wine isn’t in the way.

Aitor makes the first move and darts his tongue out quickly, just to see if José would chase him. However, instead of falling for it, José pulls way, the corners of his lips curled upward.

“We need to talk, Aitor.”

“Okay.” And really Aitor would agree to anything right now.

José laughs. “Not now. I am entertaining guests and here I am...”

“...Entertaining a guest?”

Laughter cuts the tension and José sneaks another kiss, just a peck of lips before he leads them out of the cellar.

*

Rui gets to him first. Of course he does.

“So...” He starts, his eyes darting all over Aitor’s face. “Did you and Mou fuck yet?”

Aitor chokes on his spit as he shakes his head adamantly, his hair flowing through the air. “No, no. Of course not.”

“Well, why the fuck not?”

And really, he should have expected nothing less from Rui, the man who ultimately has no filter. Aitor glares at him before looking down at his fingernails, like the dirt beneath them is that much more interesting.

“Rui... It’s not that easy, okay? You don’t understand so drop it.”

Never one to give up without a fight, Rui takes a step forward, ready to argue his point when the man of the hour blesses them with his presence.

“Now, now, Rui, you aren’t bothering our good man Aitor here, are you?” José turns to both of them with a big grin on his lips (and when he lingers his gaze on Aitor, the other man can feel the intent behind his eyes).

“Never,” Rui answers with a smile of his own. He has known José for a long time now, a lifetime. He knows how to handle the man. “I was just wondering where he had gone off to. It was probably for a good twenty minutes or so and you know me, José, I got worried.” His lips curve into a smirk as he waits for a justifiable answer.

“He was with me,” José responds, his eyes narrowed but calm like he wants Rui to challenge him. “We went down to the wine cellar.”

“Oh, really? Anything interesting?”

“Actually yes,” José steps forward, leaning in towards his staff. His voice drops. “I was showing him my favorite bottle.”

It’s a little comedic how fast Aitor’s cheeks redden even though he tries to duck his head as fast as he can.

“Oh did you, José?” Rui turns to Aitor. “Did you like it, Aitor? His bottle?”

Aitor knows they’re having a go at him, which isn’t anything entirely new but it is different now because they both know he has feelings towards José and making jokes when he’s right there... about José bottle of all things... when all Aitor wants to do is have a sip, perhaps a long drink...

“Aitor?”

Aitor snaps out of his reverie which only adds to his embarrassment because Rui’s grinning like a lunatic and if Aitor was a different man he would have happily wiped it off his face with his knuckles.

“Thinking of José’s bottle, are you?”

José cracks up laughing, no longer able to hold it in and Aitor mutters under his breath how much he hates them both before storming off.

One by one the guests leave with José bidding each one a safe journey home until Rui and Aitor are all who remain.

“I guess you two should be getting on home too, training tomorrow and you know how I don’t like tardiness.”

Rui doesn’t even try to conceal his yawn. “I am too tired to argue with that anyway. Until tomorrow, gentlemen.” He shakes both of his colleagues’ hands before parting for the door.

The silence that falls upon them doesn’t go unnoticed by Aitor, who tries to come up with a quick solution.

“So... perhaps I should be leaving too.”

“I thought this would be a great time to have our little conversation, Aitor. Don’t you think so?”

Aitor coughs before nodding. “Sure. Lead the way.”

So José does, to his family room where he ushers Aitor to the plush couches. They sit next to each other yet with some distance between them.

“So what exactly do you want from me, Aitor?”

For some reason the question surprises him, like Aitor didn’t believe José would be so forthcoming with this subject (although he should know better by now).

“Look...” Aitor feels himself becoming riled up instead of shying away and that too is shocking. It’s like the feelings inside are too much to contain. “I am not asking for anything, José. I never did.”

Reaching across, José places a gentle hand on Aitor’s thigh, his body turning slightly towards him. His face is calm but he’s thinking: Aitor can see it in his eyes.

“I never said you did,” he speaks softly, like every word is measured. “But if you could what would you ask of me? Honestly.”

Aitor laughs. Is this a trick question? Because to him it definitely feels that way. He swallows thickly before answering. “I don’t know if I would ask you of anything without knowing if you feel the same way as I do or something similar. Otherwise, it’s fruitless, no?”

It’s only a moment – perhaps just a second or two – between the sound of José’s dull laughter and the press of his lips against Aitor’s. Aitor lets out a small gasp as he is pushed against the back of the couch, José’s body warm along his.

“Aitor.”

And his body thrums at the sound of his own name from such lips he has thought of on more than one occasion. Aitor arches his body up ever so slightly, craving friction, more of anything José is willing to give him.

With a gentle little nip to Aitor’s bottom lip, José pulls away with a coy smile. “If you didn’t get an answer in the wine cellar I pray to God you’ve got it now.”

Aitor does the only thing he can think of: he reaches up and pulls José back down for another kiss, his finger wrapping around the curve of his neck. He’s about to press their lips together again when José slides a finger on to his lips instead.

“Not until you answer my question first, Aitor.”

Aitor considers it for a moment before catching José by surprise and forces José to him. Right before he kisses him – hard, fast and with purpose – he whispers, “We can talk later.”

PART TWO

a list to keep me on my toes

2012-08-18T19:22:40Z

this is just a list as to fics i have to write or have promised to write so i will keep on top of it. if i have ever promised you a fic and have not delivered yet and you still want it please please please let me know (and i apologize truly D:)

- ~~mouranka long fic (to finish)~~
- mouranka shirt swap
- mouranka future fic
- raquel surprise fic
- benneteau/gasquet olympic fic
- becks/iker 'thinking about you' au fic
- karneol_vision bday fic
- piratesswoop bday fic
- juanqui/marat long fic part two
- marat/fer lovesexmagic sidefic
- ferru/tommy for raquel just because
- iker/sergio wip with sara
- torres/mata euros fic
- sincy/alex morgan olympic fic
- sincy/kaylyn fic

not in order at all except i do need to finish the mouranka like three months ago D: i have a feeling this list will only grow :/

press play, fast forward

2012-08-10T05:26:09Z

title: press play, fast forward
pairing: fernando verdasco/david marrero
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
written for netcord, olympic/nationality issue. i totally forgot to cross post this here /o\

fic: the thin line (between right and wrong)

2012-08-03T07:48:25Z

title: the thin line (between right and wrong)
pairing: fernando verdasco/feliciano lopez (implied)
additional characters: david ferrer, nico almagro, marcel granollers, marc lopez
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
summary: everyone sees what feliciano cannot. olympic fic.
a/n: for miss_black91. she wanted asshole feli because that's who he is (well right now away). mari is david marrero aka fernando's doubles partner.

He’s over the moon – over the fucking moon. For weeks now Feliciano has dreamed of this, of being a part of the Olympic Games, of walking to a stadium full of adoring fans while wearing the colours of his country proudly. And he feels like a kid in a candy store. He know some of his fellow countrymen (mostly the basketball and football players and of course the other tennis players) but he wants to meet everyone. David laughs at him when he tries to go greet the other tennis players from other countries while they are waiting to walk out.

“At least wait until the ceremony is over, Feli,” David says with a smirk on his face. Feliciano is all but bouncing right now.

“Can it finish now? I want to meet everyone!”

David laughs as he waves him over. “Let’s take a photo. Everyone, round up.”

So all the Spanish players huddle together except Fernando who kind of waits around in the back, not sure what he should do.

“Do you want me to take it?” Fernando asks, his shoulders slightly slumped but a small smile on his face.

Nico waves him over, smiling. “No no, you get in there. I’ll take it.” He squeezes Fernando’s shoulder as he walks over and takes David’s phone from him. “Get closer,” he says to the group.

They all wear the silly hats the Spanish Olympic committee decided on, all except Fernando who shuffles in next to David and settles his hat on his knee at the last minute. Nico takes the photo and hands back the phone to its owner.

“Fer, you didn’t wear the hat!” David pokes Fernando in the arm when he sees the photo. “We have to take it again.”

Fernando laughs, and though most don’t pick it up that it’s strained Feli does. But he forces himself not to look over.

“The hat messes up my hair. I’m not wearing it until it’s necessary.”

Nico makes fun of him a little but the group breaks up and Feliciano turns his attention to the display the London Olympic committee is putting on. He knows he has a huge smile on his lips right now. He just can’t help it.

Finally when it’s their time to walk out in front of thousands of fans in the stadium and millions at home, Feliciano fixes his hat nervously. Somebody bumps his shoulder and Feli scrambles to see who it is.

He can feel the vein in his neck jump when Fernando smiles at him shyly, whispering ‘lo siento’ so lowly Feliciano thinks he imagines it because Fernando moves away quickly and settles next to a girl he’s never seen before.

But he shakes it off and walks out with the rest of team when Spain’s turn is announced.

*

His eyes keep sliding over to the right, over to where his best friend is jumping up and down and waving his hat to the crowd like he can’t contain himself even if he tried or wanted to. Feliciano tells himself he’s just taking in the sights and sounds of what is an amazing ceremony and that the girl Fernando is walking with is pretty cute. Maybe he can help him get her number...

“Do you want me to take a picture of you two?” David asks from his other side and without turning to him Feliciano knows his smiling knowingly.

“No, no. That girl is pretty hot though. Maybe after?”

When David laughs, it sounds nothing but patronizing.

“I think you can quit being an asshole now.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Feliciano mutters, smiling and waving to the crowd.

“You know we shouldn’t be playing doubles together.”

“Can you just stop?”

David sidles up close and laughs in his ear. “Sure Feli. Whatever you want.”

Feliciano looks over again and this time Fernando has Nico next to him, making him laugh and smile so Feliciano decides he’s not going to feel guilty because there’s no need.

(Even if the knot in his stomach tells him otherwise.)

*

Feli ends up taking a photo with practically everyone, weaving in and out of the swimmers, divers, basketball player and footballers. He even manages to drag Marcel and David into a few more shots with him before they are able to beg him off. When the ceremony comes to an end however Feliciano is ready to continue the party somewhere else.

“Come on! The swimmer girls are in! It’ll be fun.”

The rest of them all but roll their eyes when they reach to the Spain House.

Fernando is the first to speak, a smile on his lips as usual. “I’m going to bed, match tomorrow. You guys have fun.”

Marcel pipes in too. “We have matches tomorrow, Feli. You should get to bed too.”

“Nonsense. This is London – London - we can’t go to sleep just yet!”

Fernando, Marcel and Marc all shrug and turn to head to their rooms, Nico in tow as well.

“Fer’s got a point, Feli. Our first match tomorrow. We don’t want to get kicked out so early, now do we?” David asks with a patronizing smile.

“You all are so boring,” Feliciano grumbles but he too follows suit and heads to his room.

*

After winning their first round match, David and Feliciano stick around to watch Marcel’s and Marc’s and console them when the favourites to win a medal in the men’s double were ousted far too early for their liking. They all head back together, the mood lighter than it was back at the arena.

When they get back however the atmosphere shifts again when they come upon Fernando who looks defeated in every sense of the word though Nico is doing his best to comfort him. Their voices are hushed and quickly fall silent when they see the others have arrived.

“Hey,” Fernando says solemnly though he puts on a smile. “I was waiting for you guys to get back... so I can say bye.”

“You’re leaving so soon, Fer?” David asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah,” he responds softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I thought I’d get back home and rest as much as possible.”

No one has much to say to that so one by one they give him a hug goodbye and wish him well. Feli puts out his hand and they shake hands but when Fernando pulls him in for a hug – just a quick press of bodies before he pulls away – Feliciano freezes up. He knows he should say something, knows he has to say something but then Fernando moves away too quickly and hugs Nico who hangs on for moment longer than anyone else, whispering something in Fernando’s ear that makes him laugh.

Feliciano’s not jealous. After all, he’s the one still competing.

*

“You know you should have said bye to him.”

Feliciano looks up from his phone, sitting on his bed wasting time before going to bed. He looks at Nico confused, not too sure what he’s on about.

“What?”

“Fernando. You should have said goodbye to him.”

Feliciano shrugs before averting his eyes back to his phone. “I did.”

“You know what I mean, Feli,” Nico says before he sighs. “He’s not well.”

That catches his attention. Feliciano whips his eyes back up, worry tinged in them. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s been playing with a bad wrist and knee for some time now. Mari told me the other night to make sure Fer treats it and takes care but he told me himself today that it’s never felt as bad as it did today. And...” Nico trails off though his eyes narrow.

“And what?”

“You need to deal with your shit with him, Feli. I don’t care what it is anymore, just deal with it. Make it better... I don’t know. Just make it get better.”

Feli opens his mouth before he closes it quickly, not sure how to respond. After a moment he tries again but his voice is much quieter than before. “It’s been dealt with.”

Nico snorts at that. “We’re not blind, Feli. No one will say anything because it’s you and Fernando. Not even David or Rafa will say anything but it’s not good for him...And deep down you know it’s not good for you either.”

When Feliciano doesn’t reply Nico turns to leave and right before he exits he says one last thing. “Just remember – he was your friend first.”

And when Feliciano can’t seem to fall asleep that night, he prays to the rain gods to let it pour over London tomorrow.

*

It’s not that Nico glares at him or even says anything further on the subject to him (because he doesn’t) but Feliciano finds himself uncomfortable around him now. There’s an air of disappointment whenever Nico’s around and Feli just doesn’t like it one bit.

“You know what you have to do, right?”

Feliciano looks up from his food. “What?”

“Talk to Fernando.”

Feliciano sighs in to his bowl. “How is that going to help me with Nico?”

“Then Nico will stop doing whatever it is you find annoying. You know he talks to Fernando like everyday now?”

“Seriously?”

David nods. “Yeah. Nico’s says Fer opened up to him after he lost... Which was where you fucked up by the way.”

Feliciano looks offended, wounded really. “What? How did I fuck up?”

“You know this was the one thing he wanted, to play well at the Olympics. He could lose every other tournament as long as he played well here. You could have been the friend you used to be to him and comforted him or something.”

“You don’t know shit, Ferru.”

“Maybe I don’t,” David shrugs, “And really, I don’t care but if this was a different time, you would have been the first person to see him after he lost and most likely the reason why he’d still be here enjoying the Olympics.”

Feliciano doesn’t say a thing because he can’t. He won’t tell David how true his words are because to do that is to admit he’s fucked up, that he’s been fucking up. They both have but Feliciano’s had his opportunity to turn it all around.

When David leaves him sitting alone in the cafeteria, squeezing his shoulder before walking away, Feliciano knows there’s some kind of lesson to be learned from all this, that the first thing he should do now is pick up his phone and call the one person in Madrid who’s dying to hear from him.

Yet when he lifts his phone, instead of making that call he uploads a photo to instagram. Sometimes you just don't feel like doing the right thing.

fic: to be a part of you

2012-02-23T07:32:07Z

title: to be a part of you
pairing: gigi buffon/alessandro del piero/andrea pirlo
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
a/n: for raquel ♥ this isn't your fic but i couldn't leave this weekend without giving you anything (the fic is quite long now so this is a just a short little something i wanted to write for a loooong time). i hope you like it. ♥

This isn’t the first time he watches Alessandro and Gigi fucking.

And it definitely isn’t the last time.

But for some reason it is different now – well at least for Andrea. It has something to do with being in the same club he figures because it was never an issue whenever they were together during national team meet ups.

Now it’s private and intimate yet here he is – invited by Gigi with kiss in the locker room after a hard training session (he hates to admit that every ache and pain lingers longer in his muscles now than it used to). The kiss wasn’t convincing; it was Gigi who was – who knew how to pull Andrea in with his touches, with his whispers, with his lips. The last time Andrea had been a part of Gigi and Alessandro’s relationship was in Germany, just days before they lifted the precious trophy everyone chases after in their career.

It’s private yet he doesn’t feel like an intruder. Nor is he a voyeur. Andrea definitely feels like he belongs here right now in Gigi’s bedroom, on the couch watching as Gigi sucks on Alessandro’s earlobe. Andrea lets his body settle into the atmosphere, his hands resting on his bare thighs (Gigi undressed him of course). There’s a window cracked open somewhere because he can feel the slight breeze whirl around his naked skin. He needs warmth yet his heat sources are the bed before him, touching and licking inches of skin he so badly wants to feel.

When Alessandro moans loudly after Gigi rubs fingers along the dips of his hips down to his hard cock, Andrea bites his bottom lip and lets his hands slide to his own groin. He isn’t young anymore – none of them are – so he doesn’t do more than rub the head of his cock in slow circles before trailing his fingers down the shaft and cup around his balls. He holds them tight in his grasp though he runs his thumb back and forth over the skin of the sack.

The three of them have been friends for a long time now and though Gigi and Alessandro are better friends for obvious reasons, Andrea never feels odd or left out. He feels privileged to be able to witness such a friendship, such an understanding between two great friends and men. He has watched them grow as individuals and as a couple. Gigi is lush and eccentric, always looking for an audience and Alessandro is much of the same but on a smaller and quieter scale. It’s why they work so well with each other, both on and off the field. A captain and his vice – in every sense of the titles.

“Fuck.”

Andrea’s eyes snap up to Alessandro’s, half lidded yet smouldering with want, moaning involuntarily. Gigi is behind him now, Alessandro’s body nestled perfectly between his legs, arms cocooning the older man completely. Alessandro has his head thrown back against Gigi’s shoulder, his fingers reaching back to clutch strong thighs as Gigi strokes him evenly. Andrea knows their captain isn’t going to last long but he doesn’t move from his seat. Not yet. Not until he’s summoned.

Gigi leans forward and bites down on Alessandro’s neck gently, just barely a scratch onto his skin but the older man curls his back, first up and away then down and closer to Gigi’s erection. Hands slide up his body slowly, a soothing yet maddening touch.

“Andrea.”

And there it is. He’s up and reaches the bed within seconds, covering Alessandro’s front, every inch he possibly he can. Andrea touches his lips to the hollow of his neck, a soft kiss as he reaches for Gigi at the same time, like they’re building a wall around Alessandro’s body.

Andrea covers Gigi’s hand with his own on Alessandro’s cock, letting the goalkeeper dictate the pace. They can’t keep this up for long. They all know it.

Gigi slides his fingers into Andrea’s hair and tugs and instead of stopping like they know they should, they shuffle back against the pillows by Gigi’s lead.

“I can’t... I-”

Alessandro can’t finish his thought but he doesn’t need to. Gigi slaps at Andrea’s hip lightly, signaling him to back off. He then pulls Alessandro further up on the bed by his waist and turns him onto his side. Many words aren’t exchanged. Instead they fall into a well worn in routine.

Gigi reaches back haphazardly into his drawers and finds the lubricant easily. The snap of the cap sounds loud in the quiet but hot room as Gigi opens it up and pours a good amount between his palms. Before he turns his attention to Alessandro however, he slides his eyes over to Andrea and nods, his eyes smiling.

This is the part that surprises Andrea the most – how well he fits between the two. Gigi slides a finger into Alessandro and Andrea slips open space in front of him, kissing their captain as a distraction. Andrea however doesn’t further contact than just lips against each other. He knows one touch will have Alessandro crying out as he spends himself. So he keeps his distance though he wants nothing more than to wraps his fingers around Alessandro’s cock as he sucks his tongue eagerly. And anyway, he can’t touch him until Gigi says. It’s how it works.

The moment Gigi enters him, Alessandro breaths out heavily against Andrea’s mouth; they connect, the three of them, so warranted, so perfectly. A hand rests on Andrea’s hip, pulling him in close and Andrea takes it as a signal. He slides his hips forward and wraps his hand around both his and Alessandro’s lengths.

Alessandro’s torso leans forward yet his hips jut back, his body conflicted between the two pleasures but he doesn’t deny himself one just because of the other.

Gigi fucks him steadily, one hand gripping Alessandro’s bicep while the other one clutches Andrea as close as possible. Andrea tries to follow his pace but minutes of following, Alessandro’s breath quickens and he pulls his lips away from Andrea’s.

“Andrea... fuck.”

It thrills Andrea that he can make Alessandro feel like this, that he’s a part of something so fucking beautiful, no matter how fucking clichéd it may sound.

When Alessandro calls out as he begins to come, Gigi pushes his cock hard against him and stops completely as he comes as well, his lips finding the back of his neck. Andrea doesn’t take much longer, the feel of Alessandro’s semen on his cock, between his fingers and he strokes harder and faster. When he comes, Alessandro’s arms settle around him and kisses grace his face.

Nobody moves, not for a while at least and breaths ease out over time. And much later, after they get up and clean each other off, if Andrea had to pick a favorite part of the evening he would have to say curling up with Alessandro to his front and Gigi nuzzling his neck much like he was with Alessandro earlier has to be it. They fit.

fic: the silence that grows between us

2012-02-15T06:59:04Z

title: the silence that grows between us
pairing: alexandre ovechkin/alexander semin
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
written for pass_shoot_porn, prompt of "things that scare me"

maaaaan this is so rusty :(

They don’t talk.

Well of course they talk. They talk all the time. Alex isn’t a very quiet person so he always gets going with some kind of story on anything and everything that sparks the conversation. And more times than not, it’s about hockey but other times it’s about partying, girls, music, about home. About anything that fills the silence because that’s the thing that scares Alex the most.

He doesn’t like it when they’re all alone and there’s not a sound because words aren’t needed to express how they really feel about each other. Alex – however – doesn’t want to admit that to himself.

“Sasha, I-”

Luckily for Alex, Sasha doesn’t either. Words complicate what they share with each other (and luckily neither of them have a need or want to label what they have either). Sasha moves in and cuts off Alex’s words with a kiss, hard and forceful, and only pulling away with his bottom lip between his teeth.

Alex gets the message.

It is how things have always worked between them. Kissing, fondling, fucking has always been easier than admitting that Sasha’s eyes are fucking beautiful or that Alex’s laughter makes smile like no one else.

They stumble up the stairs, not paying any attention to the clutter that lays casually on the steps (it’s one of the reasons why Sasha hates spending the nights at Alex’s but he never says anything). Alex presses him up against the door to his bedroom and kisses him hard, neither caring that Sasha’s head connects with the plaster hard.

Here – in the bedroom, on a couch, against a wall, on the kitchen table – the only words they ever speak during times like now are each other’s names and profanity – and to them, it makes perfect sense.

Alex has them undressed within minutes and pushes Sasha hard so he lands on top of the mattress with a thud. He smiles before he stalks over climbs over Sasha, kissing him hard as he takes him into his hand.

Here – in the bedroom, on a couch, against a wall, on the kitchen table – Alex loves filling the silence with Sasha’s moans – and screams if he can press his buttons just the way he wants.

When he pushes deep into Sasha, Alex slides a hand into his hair and pulls on the blond locks, just tight enough to have Sasha gasp before he closes his eyes. The heat, the sweat, the moans – it fills the air and saturates the atmosphere quickly.

What he likes best about Sasha, what attracted him all those years ago, is the way he doesn’t need to say a single word to express himself. It’s all in the eyes. And the way they smoulder when Alex fucks him hard into the mattress just turns Alex on even more.

He may be afraid to voice what he knows and feels for Sasha but Alex doesn’t plan on ending whatever they have created between them. It works. Alex isn’t one to mess with a winning formula.

fic: conventional methods (of making love kind of bore me)

2012-01-11T06:12:56Z

title: conventional methods (of making love kind of bore me)
pairing: andy roddick/fernando verdasco
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
summary: when fernando asks andy to spend dia de reyes magos with him he doesn't actually expect him to say yes
for captainadonis ♥ sorry this is late! happy... january 10th...? :p (title stolen from ll cool j's loungin')

He doesn’t know what surprises him more; the fact that he asks Andy to spend Dia de Reyes Magos with him or that Andy says yes. It throws him off. Fernando never thought this far ahead, that maybe Andy would want to spend an important day for him together.

And really, it’s a little hard to fathom because whatever they have together only came to be by utter chance. Andy isn’t completely his and Fernando has come to terms with it because he’s always had to share and for now, it’s enough to have a piece than have nothing at all.

It’s the morning of the day before and Fernando is steadily freaking out. Andy is flying in to Madrid from Texas in a few hours and Fernando has nothing planned – no clue what to do. His family always does a dinner but he wants something that’s just them. They’re flying out to Australia the day after and he knows this may be the only real opportunity he’ll have with Andy before their attention returns to tennis, wives and girlfriends.

By the time he knows it, Andy’s sending him messages that he’s landed. Fernando quickly decides this may have been his worse decision to date.

*

He ends up taking Andy to Cabalgata de los Reyes Magos. The streets are lined with people, all waiting and watching the parade with wide and gleeful eyes so they’re a little more careful with their touches. It’s only a few touches of fingers, wrapping around each others before unwinding slowly. It’s Andy however who grips Fernando’s wrist and squeezes tight. When he turns to look at him, Fernando cannot help but smile at blue depths.

When it’s all over, Fernando shrinks his body a little as they walk the streets with the rest of the dispersing crowd, slumping his shoulders so no one will recognize him or see anyone he knows. Andy babbles on about the parade, about the horses and the costumes. Fernando laughs at his enthusiasm and excitement. It’s refreshing to see such attitude over something so important for Fernando.

They walk along the streets until Fernando takes a turn and leads them into a restaurant Andy’s never been in before. He just watches as the Spaniard slips into a language he is most comfortable in. It’s an amazing thing. Hand gestures break out in full force as do easy smiles and laughter. Andy decides he likes Fernando like this.

They head back to Fernando’s with two bags each and though Andy likes food, he’s pretty sure they don’t need this much between the two of them. But Fernando insists they do because Spanish food isn’t as “easy” as American, too many choices that cannot simply be left out.

The amount of food is staggering; salads, seafood, paella, but it’s the cakes that catch Andy’s attention. There are three different kinds, all large and colourful and so enticing.

“I don’t think we should have any of those,” Andy says pointing to the cakes after the main dishes are finished. Fernando gets up from his chair, a smile on his lips.

“But it wouldn’t be Dia de Reyes without rosca de reyes, no?”

Andy shrugs but his eyes never leave the pastries. He wants nothing more than to have a slice (if not more) of each and every single cake. “But the season...”

“We will work more harder, no?” Fernando laughs as he cuts into the first one, all glaze and fruit. He slides a slice onto Andy’s plate. Andy digs his fork into it and bites off a piece. The moan he makes is absurd.

“Holy shit!”

Cutting a piece of the second cake, Fernando lets out a loud laugh. “I told you.”

They each have a slice and half of each of the three cakes before they both throw in the towel, stomachs pleading mercy. Fernando kisses Andy on the forehead as he walks past him as he cleans up.

Andy allows himself to close his eyes, basking in the glow of a full and happy stomach. The hum of rushing water fills his ears and Andy decides to get up and help Fernando.

Slowly, he walks up behind Fernando and wraps his arms around his middle and kisses his neck lightly.

“Thanks for this.”

Fernando laughs as he turns off the tap and turns around, meeting Andy’s lips in a slow kiss. “Thanks for coming.”

Fingers slide under shirts, press against lean muscles but their kiss remains easy and gentle, tongues teasing rather than fighting for domination.

“Your room?”

Fernando breathes out a si against Andy’s lips before he shuffles them towards the door, not wanting to break the kiss. Just as they pass the counter however, something catches his eye.

“Oh, Andy,” Fernando sighs as he pulls away. Andy’s got his fingers tightly grasped around his biceps, not wanting to let go just yet. “You have to taste this.”

Andy laughs. “Fer... No more food. Sex now, food later.”

Fernando laughs too but he shakes his head. “Just a little taste, that’s it.”

The sight of chocolate... something catches Andy’s attention and though his dick is all but yelling to go to the bedroom right now, his sweet tooth gets the best of him.

“Okay maybe just a little then.”

Fernando breaks off a bit of the chocolate and smiles coyly. “Come here.”

Andy walks up to him and before he can even ask what it is, Fernando presses a piece against his lips then kisses him. Andy’s fingers fly into Fernando’s hair and tugs as he searches for more of the taste of Fernando, chocolate and almonds. It’s heady.

Andy pushes Fernando back until he’s got him pressed against the wall, the last bit of chocolate melting between their tongues. Fernando slides his hands under Andy’s shirt and runs a thumb over his nipple.

They aren’t going to make it to the bedroom.

Shirts are discarded and tossed to the floor within minutes but they don’t stop kissing. Fernando curls his fingers against the back of Andy’s neck, toying lightly with the soft hairs there. Andy shudders against him but presses his body even closer.

They haven’t been able to get together for some time now and even when they do, it’s not long enough. But it’s an agreement they have come to – albeit silent one – because they really have no choice but to work with the circumstances that are bestowed on them.

Andy gets off his jeans first before working on Fernando’s and when he gets rid of them, he wraps his fingers around Fernando and strokes him slowly. Fernando presses the tips of his fingers against Andy’s ribs and their moans mix together in the warm air.

Outside, people whistle and sing loudly, laughter filtering in from the windows but inside it’s quiet except for soft moans wrapped around the sound of skin meeting skin. Fernando has his forehead pressed against the wall, his back curved and bent, ass angled perfectly for Andy to hold him in place and fuck him hard and steady.

His hard calloused hands run over Fernando’s back and he rolls his head to the side so his cheek rests against the plaster. Locker rooms, showers, hotel balcony and now up against a kitchen wall. They don’t get the monogamous-conventional-bedroom sex.

They get this: hard, dirty, forbidden – them.

Andy grips Fernando’s hips hard, bruising and when he comes he feels like lungs close off for a split second that lasts an eternity. He can’t breathe and Fernando squeezing down around his cock only makes it worse – better, like he’s floating.

They leave their clothes strewn about in the kitchen, too tired and relaxed to care. Fernando instructs Andy to the way to his bedroom, telling him to clean up first before they get into bed and Andy kisses him on his cheek before he takes off.

Before Fernando closes his eyes, head settled against the crook of Andy’s chest and shoulder, he reminds himself to bring in their shoes from the outside before Andy wonders where his went.

notes:
dia de reyes magos in spain and spanish culture is an important day celebrated in january recognizing the day the kings brought gift for baby jesus. traditionally, there are parades the night before and children are told to leave their shoes out for the kings to leave them gifts :)

merry christmas :)

2011-12-26T03:57:56Z

written for footballslash's holiday fic exchange. there were some AMAZING fics for sure and a little bit of something for everyone. go check it out i say :)

Title: Si Je M'arrête Un Instant
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,500
Pairings/Character(s): Karim Benzema/Rafael Varane
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: New city. New club. New teammates. Familiar language. Dodgy advice.
Beta'ed by:distira
Recipient:oh_pedia
i really like this one. i feel like i did something different with it.

Title: Make My Wish Come True
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,127
Pairings/Character(s): John Terry/Frank Lampard
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Just because John Terry is a footballer doesn't mean he doesn't do last minute shopping like everyone else. AU
Beta'ed by: albion_lass
Recipient: trainmad
A/N: Everyone mentioned besides Frank is a footballer. Frank is an agent/PR rep

fic: a question of whether it is or it is not

2011-12-25T08:18:53Z

title: a question of whether it is or it is not
pairing: gary neville/steven gerrard, david beckham/michael owen
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
merry christmas to my one and only miss_black91. i hope you like this. it has your grumpy bastard, your scouse bastard and frankly the use of the word 'bastard' is appalling. bon nadal ♥

September 1994

It’s a cold day in Manchester, dark clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening to let a downpour of rain over the city. It’s a typical late September morning. Traffic is slowly beginning to build as the people grudgingly saunter off to work.

Steven rationalizes him trying out for Manchester United’s youth squad as broadening his horizons, as pressuring the club he really wants to play for. He swallows his pride when he shakes hands with the director and coaches, only a little disappointed when he doesn’t see Alex Ferguson (despite what team he may manage the man is a legend).

Along with fourteen other young hopeful boys, they start off with basic drills, split into two teams. Steven tries his best to keep to himself while still being polite and respectful. At this point in his life, he just really wants to make a team and it happens to be United, that’s just a pill he will have to learn to swallow. He pushes his body hard and doesn’t let his mind wander to think about his father who is in the car park, probably fretting like he tends to do. His father is his biggest supporter and letting him down is something Steven never wants to do.

The tryout ends with a five-a-side. Steven’s been told to play a little higher than his liking so he tends to fall back though the trainers constantly yell for him to move forward. He gets frustrated, irritated that he has to change his style of play but then remembers why he is doing it and pushes up again.

When it’s all said and done, the training staff all clap him on the back (as well as everyone else) and tell him to clean up and see them before leaving. A feeling of both excitement and dread fills his body and he’s barely able to shower properly, just standing under the water for a minute before turning it off.

When he begins to dress, a boy his height or maybe a bit taller with dark eyes and hair comes over, his eyes narrowed but friendly.

“Watched you play, mate. You’re something else.”

Steven lowers his chin, throwing his things into his. “Yeah thanks.”

“A Scouser?”

His body seizes up and Steven reminds himself to breath, to remain calm. He straightens and looks the other boy dead in the eyes. “Yeah.”

The boy laughs. “That’s alright then. Doesn’t take away from the fact that you are great out there.” He extends his hand. “Gary. Gary Neville.”

“Steven Gerrard,” He says, taking Gary’s hand. He knows he’s heard the name the before.

“Well it was good meeting you, mate. Good luck, yeah?”

Gary walks turns around and walks away, greeting others as he goes.

“Ta,” Steven says quietly before shouldering his bag and mentally prepares himself.

When he approaches his father’s car, Steven can see him gripping the steering wheel tightly. It makes him smile, to know his father cares is as nervous as he is. He gets around to the car door and slides into the seat before he turns to the side and looks at him.

“So?” His father asks him, his eyes worried.

“They asked me to come back for another tryout.”

Steven turns to face forward, his hands spread wide to catch the warmth of the heater.

“That’s good, yeah? When is it?”

“Four hours.”

The second tryout is more of a conditioning workout and many of the boys who were there in the morning were not here now. Steven considers as a little victory in the grand scheme of things.

They do laps around the pitch which is damp so his cleats stick a little but the run is being timed so Steven steps it up a little, wanting to prove can hold his own. Out of five boys he’s the second in the lead right now with the third being half a lap behind him. Steven’s feeling quite confident.

The session ends in the gym where the boys are weighted and measured before they are congratulated for making it this far. However, they are also quickly told that only two of them will make the cut to join the existing squad.

Steven’s still excited but the feeling of anxiety and failure is stronger. He thinks – knows – he’s done well but they won’t know for another week. It’s time for him to pack up and head back to Liverpool.

There’s a note lying on his bag however when he gets back to the locker room:

not a bad tryout for a scouser.
good luck
g

He doesn’t end up making the team. And honestly, he’s relieved. It isn't meant to be.

*

May 1999

He had never dreamed he would be a part of this. No – scratch that. He had dreamed but never, truly believe he would be standing in Anfield – on the pitch – playing against Manchester United, playing in one of the biggest derbies in football worldwide.

All he sees is red – Liverpool Red – United Red – it is overwhelming, starting from his head all the way down to the tips of his toes. He’s nervous and not confident whatsoever playing on the right wing. But that’s what the manager had said – has been saying for the entirety of this season. He isn’t going to protest against Houllier’s decision.

The match is brutal right from the initial whistle. The stadium is too loud, too distracting but Steven closes his eyes and open them again quickly before he falls into his position. He holds the midfield well along with Jamie Redknapp. But it soon goes to hell when Liverpool find themselves down one nil, a trickle of a goal by Yorke that the keeper would love back. Steven doesn’t hear most of what is said during half time, just focuses on his boots and ankles, not looking anywhere else especially not up.

United aren’t letting up however and score on a penalty Liverpool protest heavily. The crowd never deflates either and the players use that as motivation to keep pressing forward. Redknapp nets one in on a penalty and suddenly things don’t look so bleak and team gets back into the match.

Liverpool’s season is over. They aren’t playing for anything more than win against their biggest rival.

United find themselves down one man as Irwin – the man who scored the penalty for them – gets himself ejected from the match. Liverpool doesn’t hesitate to take full advantage of having an extra player. They score and it’s all tied up. The fans are screaming and cheering and everyone wants one more goal. One more to make Manchester keep fighting for the title until the very end of the season.

However when the final whistle blows the match ends 2-2. It’s a disappointing to not win in your own home but a draw is considerably better than a loss. So the Liverpool side claps to their fans before looking towards the tunnel.

Steven feels an arm slide up against his shoulders and he turns to the left to see Gary Neville, the boy – man – he met all those years ago in Manchester.

“Never thought I’d actually play against you, Gerrard,” Gary laughs as they walk off.

“Fuck off. Next time we play, I’ll win,” The conviction in Steven’s voice is something to be reckoned with.

But Gary doesn’t say a word, just walks off with a smirk on his face.

*

June 2000

The last time he was this excited was when Liverpool called him up and asked him if he wanted a spot on the squad. Two years later and it’s England who’s doing the calling. It’s the only thing he talks about to his family and friends but they all understand. Wearing the crest of your country isn’t something too many get to achieve in their lifetime.

The team heads to Belgium and Steven sticks to Michael Owen as closely as he can. He’s easily Steven’s best friend in Liverpool so it’s only natural for them to stay close to each other. Michael does most of the talking while they’re sitting on the plane, rambling from topic to topic until David Beckham invites them both over for a round of poker with a bunch of others, including the Mancs. Steven politely declines while Michael does not and he is left in silence.

But only for six minutes and fifteen seconds.

“Why don’t you join in? Afraid to lose a bit of your Liverpool salary?”

Steven looks up and sees Gary’s grinning face, a sight he’s already sick of seeing.

“Fuck off will yeah? Let me get some rest before I have to deal with you for a month.”

Gary laughs loudly, his head thrown back. “Good lad! Didn’t think you had it in you!” Then suddenly, without warning, he takes the vacated seat left by Michael. Steven mutters something low and unintelligible and though Gary doesn’t understand him he slaps him on the knee in a friendly gesture.

“God, you’re a fucking grumpy bastard, aren’t yeah? We’re not playing against each other right now so lighten up.”

“Fuck off, Neville,” Steven tries again but this time he’s smiling slightly, just the corners of his mouths turned upward.

Gary gets up from the seat and pushes him lightly as he walks over to their teammates playing poker.

He’s relieved when he finds out he gets Michael as a roommate for the duration of the tournament. Back with their club, Steven has been rooming with Redknapp on the road, Michael with Carragher. So it’s nice to have the opportunity to catch up and spend time with a good friend.

“You should have seen Ince! Left the Mancs with their jaws on the floor, he did!” Michael laughs as he rehashes the poker game a few members of the squad played the night before. “David’s a nice bloke so he didn’t say much but the Nevilles! They just wouldn’t shut their gobs! Kept going on about how Ince must have been cheating or something because they didn’t want to admit they lost. That Gary is something else.”

Steven snorts. “He doesn’t know how to shut up is all.”

“You’re telling me, mate! Just kept running his mouth the entire time.”

“I’m happy here, I am.”

“No, no. You should join in next time, yeah? You’re good so I don’t know why you keep saying no.”

“I just want to keep to myself is all.”

“Stevie, just join in for a round yeah? Tonight?”

“I rather not, mate.”

“You have to! Do it for us scousers, will yeah?”

Steven laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s been roped in. “Fucking bastard.”

It’s not that he doesn’t like his national team teammates because he does but the dynamic is different. Some have known each other for longer or play with each other so conversation flows more comfortably between certain groups of players than with everyone as a whole. And naturally, Steven likes to be left to his own group or to himself on most days.

This is why he hates Michael today.

“Oh look who’s here! Think you can play with men, huh mate?”

He cringes upon hearing Gary’s voice and snarky laughter but Steven ignores him and takes a seat between Michael and David.

“Five card draw?” Steven asks offhandedly as he takes a bottle of water Michael passes to him.

“Yeah, do you need to know how it works?”

The jibe earns a laugh from everyone sitting around the table except Steven and Michael (and David’s only half smiling).

“Sit your ass down and play, yeah?”

Alan Shearer and Paul Scholes burst into laughter and for some reason it calms the sudden anger that’s flared up within Steven. He laughs it off too, just to make sure everyone knows this is just teasing.

Though a few hands do get intense at times, it’s a good time. Everyone’s laughing and getting to know each other much better. For example, David is shit poker and is now sitting out because he has no more money to lose. Steven joins him on the balcony after deciding he’s had enough.

“Done?”

Steven laughs. “Yeah. I need to keep a bit of money for the next game, yeah?”

David shakes his head, smiling as he leans his forearms against the railing and lets his eyes glide over the city. Steven slides next to him and mimics his pose.

“Don’t let him get to you, yeah?”

“Who?”

“Gaz. He’s just talking shit. He loves talking shit,” David laughs. “But he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Steven turns his body so he’s facing David. “Yeah I know.”

“Some people don’t and they don’t understand that’s just who he is. He’s a right bastard but in a good way.”

“In a good way?” Steven asks, eyebrow raised.

David shoves his shoulder. “You know what I mean.” He turns back and clutches the rail, rocking his body back and forth as he rests his weight on the balls of his feet. “He’s a good mate.”

“Who is?”

Steven and David both whip around to see Michael standing in the doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“Gary,” David replies leaning against the railing again.

Michael snorts as he walks onto the balcony. “That bastard? I don’t think so, mate.”

Steven chuckles and though David is smiling he shakes his head.

“He is!” But David knows it’s useless to keep hammering his point. He will need to drag Gary out one night with the Scousers to show them how the man really is.

When he steps next to the linesman, 16 in, 10 out, Steven feels more proud than nervous. It catches him by surprise because whenever he had dreamed about this moment he pictured himself as a shivering, anxiety filled mess. But he’s close to calm as he’ll ever be and when he hears the supporters sing God Save the Queen loudly, it makes his heart swell just a little.

England is up but by only one goal so they push forward and hard but Germany doesn’t relent. Steven plays up high, like he does with his club and feels confident – natural.

The match ends 1-nil for England and the players head off the pitch feeling like they still have a shot at winning the Euros.

Losses hurt. They get into your head, wiggle their way into your brain and you think and think and think what you did wrong. Then when it’s all said and done, it settles into your heart and it feels like you’ve hit rock bottom, like there is no way up.

Even though he doesn’t play in the last two matches, Steven still feels the weight of the losses, his mind still runs like crazy thinking about what went wrong and where. He’s not ready to go home and really – none of them are. It wasn’t meant to end like this.

He’s last to get onto the plane and when he sees the only vacant spot is next to Gary, he regrets it immediately. Michael is about two rows behind them so when Steven approaches his seat he pleads with him through his eyes but Michael shrugs (though he does look apologetic).

Steven tries not to grumble too much. After all, it was Gary who was on the pitch for both losses. He’s probably got a million and one regrets eating away at him right now.

“Gary,” Steven says politely as he nods and takes his seat. Of course all he gets in turn is a grunt. Maybe it won’t be so bad if they just stay to themselves for the entirety of the flight.

Steven is half way through a book he borrowed from Michael when he hears grumbling next to him. He looks up from his book, eyebrow raised in question.

“Something the matter?”

“Yeah this fucking flight,” Gary replies with a snarl. He unbuckles the seatbelt hastily and leans forward, poking his head out from the seats. “I fucking ordered a drink ten minutes ago. How long does it take to throw ice into a glass and pour some rum over it?”

“Relax, mate,” Steven tries his best to soothe his teammate. “I’m sure it’s on its way.”

“Yeah and not soon enough,” Gary mumbles before he settles back into his seat.

Steven doesn’t know why he does it but he squeezes Gary’s knee tightly and offers a smile before going back to his book.

*

July 2003

“Just come with me will yeah?”

Steven makes the mistake of looking at Michael because the man knows how to work him in a with a look. He sighs.

“Fine you bastard.”

And then Michael grins. “Oh come on. It’s a party at Becks’. How bad can it be?”

“He didn’t invite me now did he?”

“Actually he did. He said to bring that grumpy Scouse bastard and maybe he’d stick you in a locked room with the Manc bastard and let you two go at each other.”

Steven shoots him a glare before he walks out of his kitchen and into the living room. Michael pads after him.

“It’s a farewell party of sorts.”

“Which doesn’t make sense as to why we are going.”

“Because he asked me to come?” Michael knows what he’s not saying but Steven won’t force him to so he doesn’t.

“And you’re totally sure it’s okay for us to be there?”

Michael laughs. “Stevie, it’s not like we aren’t invited! Plus we are teammates of his, maybe not club so it won’t be too weird.”

“If I hear one fucking Scouse joke though...”

Michael claps him on the back, howling with laughter.

Lavish – and really there isn’t any other word for it. David’s home is beautiful and with the added lights, music, entertainment and guests, it’s a party meant to be never forgotten.

Steven and Michael go together only after younger man refused to show up on his own. David had said it was dinner/casual however, Steven immediately feels uncomfortable in his dark wash jeans and button down top. Most of the men are in suits while the women are in beautiful dresses and gowns. Michael is dressed much like his friend so he pokes Steven in the side to stop pulling at his clothes. Then suddenly the host of the party greets them with a huge and warm smile.

“Mikey! Gerrard! It’s so nice to have you both here.”

He shakes both of their hands and pulls Michael in for a quick hug. It’s something Steven raises his eyebrow to but doesn’t question.

They both whisked off to get a drink immediately after and are lead to a group of familiar faces. It’s a little weird for Steven to see some of them off the pitch and had never imagined to be sharing a drink with more than half of these Mancs. But he’s polite and doesn’t let himself drink too much.

That doesn’t mean others are following his example.

“Gerrard! You Scouse bastard! Didn’t expect to see you here, mate!”

Steven cringes before he turns around with a slight smile on his lips, offering his free hand out to Gary before taking a sip of his drink.

“Gary,” He says as he nods his head. It’s just them, the rest just an arm’s length away. (Except Michael. He hasn’t seen his friend for quite some time now.)

Gary is a tad bit drunk. It’s given away by the way the man sways on the spot slightly – barely noticeable unless you standing in front of him like Steven was – and his eyes have an edge of haze in them.

“Should I keep away from title talk?”

It wouldn’t be so bad if Gary didn’t have a right bastard of a smirk on his lips.

“No, no. Congrats after all. Great season,” Steven says generically. It cuts him a little say it but he’s not a bitter man – he wasn’t raised like that.”

Gary laughs, loud and hearty. “You’re a good lad, you know that?” But he doesn’t wait for a reply as he throws an arm around Steven’s shoulders and turns to where most the party is being conducted. “Let’s get this man a drink!”

Steven decides much later that night that Gary isn’t a big of a bastard as he made him out to be. That doesn’t mean he isn’t one because he is but he’s also a good man with a big heart. Not to mention one hell of a defender.

“You ever going to tell me why I saw you tryout for United’s youth squad?”

Four stiff drinks later, Steven is red in the face.

“Uh... Yeah.”

Steady drunk now, Gary laughs, waving his glass around in the air and not caring that it spills all over the floor. “You can’t deny that it wasn’t you.”

Steven’s forced back to his childhood, fourteen – stupid, desperate and talented. He joins in and laughs.

“I needed a contract and I was so desperate I was willing to play for you Manc bastards. Thank the heavenly God that never happened.”

“Well, killing Liverpool every match wouldn’t be as much fun then, now would it?” Gary smirks as he shoves Steven’s shoulder lightly.

“You’ve never had an easy match against us, mate.”

“We have to let you feel like you still have a chance otherwise we would have a bunch of crying Scousers and we can’t have that now can we?”

Luckily for Gary, Steven’s a happy drunk and not an angry one because instead of receiving a fist to the face like many other Scousers would have done, Steven pushes his glass into his chest.

“Get me a drink, yah Manc bastard.”

Though he won’t remember it in the morning, Steven’s a little disappointed when it’s time leave.

*

June 2004

It’s a testament to how much things have changed from the last time. Four years later and Steven chooses to sit next to Gary on the airplane to Portugal for the Euros – mostly because he doesn’t want to hear the bullshit Michael is going to tell him, trying to rationalize why he is leaving (though he hasn’t yet but Steven knows he is, can see it in his eyes).

“Gerrard, I can count on you for poker tonight right?”

Steven turns his head and shakes his head. “Not tonight, mate.”

“What’s going on?”

Maybe it’s the genuine tone in Gary’s voice or maybe the look of concern in his eyes but something catches Steven by surprises and he stumbles over his words.

“I uh... Maybe tomorrow?”

Gary’s about to ask him again when Steven gives him a look of his own that has him stopping in his tracks. He nods understandingly.

“Alright, mate but you can’t duck out tomorrow.”

Eriksson rooms them together and Steven’s both horrified and relieved at the same time.

“All I want to know is why he had to pair me up with a Manc?”

“Who would you rather have? The Chelsea bastards?”

Steven bursts out laughing, collapsing onto the bed he’s decided is his. “There are far too many of them on the team.”

“Who else is going to warm the bench, huh?”

The mattress underneath him dips. Steven props himself up on his elbows and tilts his head to the side.

“I wouldn’t have minded Rooney. He’s still a Scouse at heart.”

Gary laughs, baring his teeth. “Look at you, holding on to the little things.”

“It’s true.”

“He plays for us, mate. Don’t forget that.”

Steven lets the argument die because if he has learned anything in his lifetime it’s to not argue with Gary Neville aka The Grumpiest Manc Bastard of Them All.

“You sure you don’t want to come to poker night tonight?”

Steven shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”

“Too bad. It’s here tonight.”

“What?” Steven gets up now, sitting up properly. “It’s always in the captain’s room.”

“Captain wants it here.”

“Tell Beckham he can fuck himself, he can.” There’s no way the lads are going to make a right mess of his room, thank you very much.

“That’s what he’s got your friend for, isn’t it?”

Steven freezes. Though he has always known he has never discussed it with Michael himself so to have Gary just throw it into their conversation so casually leaves him unbalanced.

“Oh come on,” Gary speaks again when he sees the shock on Steven’s face. “Why do you think we’re rooming together? Becks thought it would be the best decision because we’re the only ones to know. Though God knows they are beyond obvious.”

The rest of their conversation is a bit hazy.

The night rolls around and Steven finds his room filling up with teammates who are here for a night of poker. He doesn’t know why Gary prides himself a great poker player when he knows he’s never won more than a round or two. Steven sits out tonight, instead chooses to talk to Jamie Carragher and Wayne Rooney for most of the night.

It isn’t until most of the others are gone does Michael approach him. Before Steven could even get a word in Michael apologizes immediately.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I am,” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes lined with tiredness. “And nothing is signed yet. My agent’s just talking with other clubs, that’s it.”

“But why? Why the fuck do you want to leave?”

“It’s not the same anymore, is it? I just... I think it’s time to move on.”

“Michael, mate,” Steven starts off, telling himself to not cause a scene in front of the others in his room. “I’m not some club rep. You’re my best mate, alright. Tell me.”

And Michael does the only thing that could explain it. He turns his head just a fraction of an inch and looks to David. And really, it explains it all.

Gary closes the door after the last person leaves and heads over to his bed where he sits on the mattress, takes off his shoes and flops onto his back, letting out a loud sigh.

“I really should stop betting these lads. They keep kicking my ass.”

Steven chuckles from bathroom where he’s already begun brushing his teeth. “You’ve always been shit, mate.”

“Fuck off,” But Gary’s smiling. He closes his eyes and lets the noises in the room placate him for a few moments before biting the bullet. “Things okay between you and Owen now?”

Steven wanders out from the bathroom, a little grin on the corner of his mouth. “You’re a nosy Manc bastard aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” Gary responds with a chuckle. He doesn’t say any more than that, waiting for Steven to respond.

Steven sighs as he takes a seat on his bed. “Yeah, we’re okay.” And he leaves it at that because he knows Gary doesn’t need to know any more though Steven knows he’ll find out soon enough like everyone else. “Where’s the TV remote?”

Gary points to bedside table to the opposite side of his body but doesn’t make any attempt to get it and pass it to him.

“Well, give it here, yeah?”

Gary shakes his head though he’s wearing a smirk. “Feeling tired, lad. Get it yourself.”

“Fucking bastard,” Steven mutters but not quietly enough because Gary’s laugh rings around the room. He gets up from his bed and walks around until he grasps the controller between his fingers. As he walks back to his bed Steven makes sure to give Gary a knock on the head.

Their friendship is a weird one – one which most don’t understand. Steven has respect for Gary and Gary likewise. You’d never find them drinking in a pub together nor inviting each other over for dinner; it’s an understanding between two men that surpasses the lines of the pitch.

If anyone finds it strange that they partner up for some drills during training the frustrating match with France, it goes unsaid.

“You should put in your transfer request, mate. Then maybe you’d know what winning feels like.”

If it were anyone else, Steven knows a battle of words isn’t one he’d engage in, rather a fisticuffs.

“But then I’d have that fucking Manc stink on my skin that you Manc never seem to rid off. Look at Becks, been away a full year and still smells like you lot.”

“The smell of success overpowers it.”

“Are you sure that’s what it is, mate? Smells like a rotting pile of shit to me.”

Gary’s about to retort when Eriksson calls them all in. Instead, he just throws Steven a grin that says ta, mate.

Eighty-three minutes, two goals up, Steven scores another passed the Swiss goalkeeper and the match is good in the bag now. His teammates swarm him and congratulate him with a hug or a pat to his head or back.

It’s Gary however who catches him by surprise. He wraps his fingers against his hair and pulls so their faces are so close and he smiles. Not a grin. Not a smirk. But a genuine heart-filled smile that distracts Steven for a moment before David pulls him in for a hug.

*

May 2005

“Hey, Steven, it’s me, mate. Neville. I just wanted... Wanted to congratulate you, lad. What a fucking finish. Didn’t think you Scousers had it in you... But you did. It was amazing and you definitely deserved to win. That Alonso lad and Dudek... I guess you were okay too. Anyway, I just wanted to say congrats. Call me back if you want. Maybe we can get a pint sometime.”

(Steven never admits to anyone how many times he replays the message and how much regrets never calling him back.)

January 2006

“You’re a fucking bastard.”

“Steven, I-”

“No, Neville. You’re a fucking right bastard. None of us would have done that shit with your fans.”

Gary sighs. He hates being yelled at especially over the fucking phone. He drags his fingers through his hair before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It was wrong, fucking wrong. Of course it was!” Gary exasperates. “But it was a spur of the moment thing...” As soon as he trails off he knows it isn’t the right thing to say.

“You fucking knew, Neville. Don’t fucking lie.” Steven’s voice lowers to something dangerous, something Gary’s never heard.

“It’s not about you, Steven,” Gary feels himself confessing though he really doesn’t want to. “It was just some shit I read from your fans and it got to me. It fucking got to me.”

“I just didn’t expect it from you, Gaz.”

And really, that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

*

May 2008

It’s a friendly and he’s injured but there’s no way Gary isn’t going to watch the friendly between his country and USA at Wembley. He’s getting older; he can feel it in his bones, when he walks and running is even worse. But he isn’t going to quit just yet and he knows he still has a good chance of donning the England crest above his heart once again.

His heart swells when David sets up Terry’s header, loving that his dear friend is still silencing critics at the age of thirty-three. Ever since they were young, he knew David would be larger than just this world.

Steven’s goal is unexpected but not unwelcomed and Gary gets up from his seat to clap his hands enthusiastically. In the moment, he misses being on the pitch so much, misses the red of his club and the white of his country.

He misses everything.

*

July 2009

It’s David who brings them together again, his lavish parties – except this time it isn’t lavish whatsoever. It’s a small get together but big enough that David can escape and spend time chatting and reliving memories with Gary, Steven and Michael. Something’s changed between him and Michael over the years but as before, it’s never voiced out loud.

They leave Gary and Steven alone as usual but they’re used to it by now.

“How many more years you got in ya, old man?” Steven asks teasingly as he knocks back a beer.

“Don’t be surprised if I out live your footballing career, mate,” Gary bares his teeth in response.

It’s the one thing they like about each other. The other always gives back just as good as they receive. They know what’s off limits and what isn’t. It’s refreshing not have to tiptoe around someone all the time.

They talk about random shit, jumping from the season that just finished (insert much Chelsea FC bashing here), Ronaldo leaving for Madrid (they both try to not slander the club that seems to steal their players), and more mundane things like summer vacation and family trips (they joke about taking a trip together which would give the press a field day).

They end up at Gary’s house which isn’t too far from David’s, deciding to leave the party when the host disappeared with Michael for inappropriate amount of time. They truly don’t mind except they were getting bored so it only made sense to leave.

Gary breaks his sixteen year old single malt scotch and Steven tries his best to not wince when they sip on it, oh so slowly. It burns the entire way down from his throat to his stomach. Steven realizes for being somewhat friends he has never been inside Gary’s home. It’s quite beautiful and very “Gaz” like.

Two drinks of scotch (no ice, no water because that is abuse to fine liquor apparently), Steven’s vision is well blurry, his speech slurred, his mood giddy.

“Put on some music will yeah, yeah Manc bastard?!”

Gary who isn’t as shattered as he is because he’s an experienced scotch drinker laughs at Steven’s outburst before he goes to find something upbeat on his stereo system. He plays Oasis and okay they’re not exactly up beat and optimistic but he fucking loves their music.

When Gary sits down next to him, Steven moves in closer. After a few minutes of bobbing his head to the music, Steven speaks up.

“You know, you’re not that bad.”

“Ta, mate. You’re not so bad yourself,” Gary says with a laugh.

Steven shakes his head, chuckling. “No, no, I mean it. Whenever we get back from national duty, everyone always asks what you’re really like and when I tell them I room with you, they then ask how I survived,” He laughs a little louder this time, taking another sip of his drink. “You’re not that bad for a Manc.”

“You wouldn’t believe the shit I get for being seen talking to a Scouser, mate. I have it much worse.”

Gary waits for Steven’s intoxicated mind to catch up and laughs so hard when he sees Steven’s facial expressions develop on his face.

“Oh fuck off! I’m your favourite Scouser. We all know this.”

“We? Sorry, mate. Rooney has to be up there.”

“Fuck Rooney... Well not literally,” And Steven breaks into laughter again.

Gary takes away his drink though he’s got a grin on his face. “You are fucking shattered.”

“It’s your old man drink.”

“Oi!” Gary takes offense to that immediately. “I have you know it’s a very distinguished drink.”

“Among old men.”

They look at each other, both staring into each other’s eyes before they burst into laughter.

“Fuck, I am shattered,” Steven says as he hiccups.

Gary gets up. “Stay there. I’ll get you some water.”

He’s only gone for a minute or two but when he gets back, Steven’s resting his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, lips curled upward in a smile. Gary stands back for a moment and just watches in awe before he shakes his head and sits back down next to Steven.

“Here.”

Steven lifts his head and opens one eye slowly, giving Gary a drunken smile.

“Ta, Gaz.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but Gary leans in and pushes his lips to Steven’s and the entire time he kisses him, he thinks he’s crazy and stupid and ruining a friendship over an impulse. But he doesn’t pull away. Neither does Steven.

If anything, they press closer and fingers become bold as they slip inside clothes and tongues become devilish as they slide against the seam of lips.

Seconds (though it feels like minutes) later, they part and just stare at each other, Steven’s drunken eyes drooping slightly and Gary knows something’s changed.

They don’t fuck, they never do. Not now anyway. Their lives are too complicated to throw another dynamic like fucking a man into it. However, things have changed and the next time they touch, whether it be innocently like a handshake or congratulating one on a goal or retirement ;or not so innocently like a stolen kiss in the visitors’ changing room at Old Trafford or a touch meant for no one’s knowledge but theirs, they don’t ever rule out fucking.

Some things are worth waiting for if it’s meant to be.

fic: watch the watchers

2011-12-22T20:14:47Z

title: watch the watchers
pairing: gonzalo higuian/karim benzema
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
for pretty_panther merry christmas bb ♥ i love that you encourage me to write moar karim :p

It’s Xabi who notices first. Of course it’s Xabi. Nothing escapes him really. He’s too aware, too conscious of his surroundings even when he’s not paying full attention to it. He doesn’t say anything to anyone but he does watch them a little closer ever since the first incident.

It starts with the Copa del Rey celebrations. They’re bodies were too close, their laughter and smiles too narrowly directed. But everyone was elated and drinking (well except Cristiano) and Xabi had pushed it to the back of his mind for the rest of the night.

Then comes the barbeque. It was a good way to unwind after a tough training session. It wasn’t a complete surprise as the media had reported because Mou had all but demanded the players to not have any plans for the rest of the afternoon though he didn’t explain why. In the end it was a great way to bring players together with the staff and really just relax and enjoy each other’s company.

Some more than others of course.

Xabi doesn’t think anyone else notices the subtle touches between the two when they were pouring in their food or when they sit next to each and brush their hands when they reach for their glasses. It is small and insignificant and really – Xabi doesn’t want to be in anyone else’s business but his own.

But then Alvaro approaches him with Raul in tow and asks him if he’s seen anything funny between the two men. Xabi tries to play it off at first – like Alvaro is making things up, that he is seeing things but then something happens right in front of them during training one day (really rubbing each other’s ears shouldn’t be that much of a red flag but it is) and Alvaro turned to Xabi with a smirk on his face and all but says “See, I’m not making shit up.”

Sergio figures it out not too much after. He wants to play a joke on them, have them admit it while making themselves look like asses but Xabi – being Xabi – rules it out immediately. So he does the only thing he could think of and that wouldn’t get Xabi’s disapproval. He tells Iker.

Iker thinks it is hilarious and basically laughs for five minutes straight while asking ¿que? over and over again. When he settles down (though Sergio really doesn’t help with all the jokes he keeps cracking every moment Iker stops laughing) his face turns serious and he wonders out loud if and how it would affect the team. Iker’s always concerned with the team, first and foremost.

*

“Well I’m going to call it a night,” Gonzalo says with a big smile on his face. He sticks out his hand and pulls each one of the guys in for a hug. “Need to pack before I go back home tomorrow.”

“And bang B”-

Raul’s cut off by Alvaro’s elbow digging into his ribs though he’s barely containing a laugh.

“Feliz Navidad, hombre,” Xabi extends his hand and hugs Gonzalo, shooting his chuckling teammates a look to shut the fuck up. “Be safe.”

“Yeah, use a condom. Or several. You can never be too careful,” Sergio speaks up and Iker, standing next to him, chokes on his spit.

“Sese!”

Sergio shrugs, smirking however. “What? I’m being serious.”

Gonzalo shakes his head, tips of his ears reddening. “See you after the new year, you crazy motherfuckers.”

*

He rounds the corner of the building, tucking himself further into his coat, waiting for a black Mercedes to show up already. When it finally does, he lets out a relieved sigh and gets into it when it stops right in front of him.

“Took long enough.”

Karim shrugs. “Lass wouldn’t let me leave. He knows I’m all packed already and our flight isn’t for another two days.”

Gonzalo slumps against the heated leather seats. “Yeah, the guys were acting weird too.”

“Who?”

“Chori, Sergio... All of them really. Do you think...?”

“What? No,” Karim shakes his head insistently. “We’ve been careful.” He pulls the car into the street first then turns on the music, low so the beat lulls in the background.

“Maybe we should just tell them? All this sneaking around shit is stressful.”

“And dealing with their teasing and shit will be easy? Hell no.”

Gonzalo slides his hand along Karim’s on the stick shift. “Yeah, true.” He squeezes lightly, knowing Karim is still weary of others reactions to them. “What if we tell Xabi. Xabi’s a good man. He could help.”

“Before or after he tells Alvaro and Chori?”

“Good point,” Gonzalo laughs. “Okay fine. But let’s just tell them before we get caught fucking in the locker room or something.”

Really, he only says it because he knows how Karim will react and it’s worth it.

fic: feet run out of ground

2011-12-20T07:18:24Z

title: feet run out of ground
pairing: fernando verdasco/feliciano lopez
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
summary: their relationship has been strained even during the davis cup final
for piratesswoop merry christmas bb ♥ i hope this isn't too typical of me.
if you haven't seen the video of the armada boys dancing in the club after the DC victory i highly suggest you do... it's awesome, cute, adorable and awesomely embarrassing.

Something had changed along the way. What – no one knows. The atmosphere between them is best described as civil which is a shame because everyone remembers them as being best of friends. Where one ended and the other one started no one knew. Nowadays, they’re rarely seen together.

When Albert Costa pulls them aside separately to ask them if they could play together for the final, they both reply with a definite yes; however, it is Feli who has a brief thought otherwise.

*

On court, they are strictly business. Feliciano’s body is stiff with determination – Fernando’s loose with excitement. It makes for a horrible combination as they aren’t able to read each other, both on separate pages now. It’s two days before the Davis Cup Final and at this point everyone is depending on the singles (even if no one says it out loud).

Right before they are going to call it a day, Fernando grasps Feliciano’s wrist and smiles, not caring where they were.

“Remember the first time we played together?”

“Doubles?” Feliciano allows himself to return the smile, albeit briefly. “Of course. I had to save your ass.”

“Fuck you! You had no idea what you were doing.” Fernando laughs as he crouches on his legs, imitating his friend. “Fer! What do I do?! Where do I hit the ball?!”

Feliciano laughs too as he pushes Fernando over with his foot. It’s a sound neither man as heard in a while. They share the silence together peacefully, just smiling at each other until Feliciano reaches out a hand to Fernando and helps him up.

If they have something else to say to each other, they don’t. And ultimately that is the problem.

*

There aren’t too many people who know Feliciano inside out. He likes to keep most things to himself though he gives enough to keep his fans and press happy. With everything that had happened in the past with girlfriends and media, he’s learned his lesson to appreciate every ounce of privacy. He knows he’s lost people through his life, especially over the last year, seen those who have stayed by his side no matter how bloody the battle. At the age of thirty he’s finally realizing the importance of family.

Fernando knows him like no one less. They picked up girls when they were younger, seen each other strike out and laugh together about it after. When tennis became more serious, they were each other’s motivation – pushing the other to the limit and beyond. And when they got together all those years ago, they knew they would have each other for life – as friends, family, lovers. Labels exceeded them.

*

“Do you remember 2008?”

“Fernando...”

“What?” Fernando chuckles lightly as he ties his shoes. “We were amazing, Feli.”

Albert’s waiting for them outside the locker room and the sound of the crowd carries beautifully. This is their moment to recreate something they discovered years ago, to re-establish their partnership.

“That was different then.”

“What do you mean?”

Feliciano thinks about it – thinks about Buenos Aires and the weight on their shoulders. He remembers the pressure of proving themselves to the tennis world and beyond. It was hard to go out and see nothing but blue and white and hear the people sing proudly for their country. Backs against the wall.

Yet, here they are – proven leaders, proven winners and in front of their people.

“Now we’re at home.”

*

They start off well – better than expected but then it all falls apart. Shots they should be making with their eyes closed are widely missed or directed right into the net. Frustration seeps in and they are no longer a team but two individuals pretending to play as a pair.

It hurts but it would have been more painful if they had the expectation to win it all for Spain. They no longer have that privilege.

*

He’s tired, exhausted and does not want to deal with anything that doesn’t involve him.

“Fer, just to go to sleep okay? It’s late.”

There’s a pause over the line before a strangled sigh. “Can’t I just drop by for a minute? I want to talk to you... Please?”

His resolve drops because it’s Fernando. It’s fucking Fernando who knows him better than anyone else, who’s been there for him when no one else was.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll leave the door open.”

*

They don’t end up talking at all. Fernando had walked into Feliciano’s hotel room with his shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyes red and full of sadness and Feliciano didn’t have the heart to turn him away. Instead, they wrap their arms around each other and hold on tight.

“Fernando...”

But Fernando just shakes his head against Feliciano’s neck and hugs him a little tighter.

No more words are exchanged but when they’re still holding onto each other, fingers digging in like they mean it, maybe they aren’t necessary.

(And when Fernando slips out of the room at five in the morning without saying a single thing, they’re back to where they started.)

*

He has come to terms knowing his greatest victory was for his country – three years ago when there was no one else to turn to except him. Sometimes it leaves a bad taste in his mouth; other times it makes his heart swell – to know that he accomplished something most didn’t think he would be able to.

So no matter if they had lost the doubles or not, Fernando’s proud to wear the colours of his country, to have the crest sitting above his heart. And when he sings his country’s anthem he lets himself sneak look over to Feliciano and squeezes his shoulder.

*

It takes about four drinks containing more alcohol than mix to loosen Feliciano and coupled with the amount of people who are in the club to share in their happiness makes him feel like he’s floating on a soft and cushiony cloud.

So when Rafa grabs him to dance he doesn’t think twice and begins to jump and twist and wave about accordingly. Feliciano knows his cheeks will hurt in the morning, what with all this smiling he’s doing (the muscles haven’t had a good workout in a while).

Music changes, drinks are refilled but the dancing doesn’t stop. He sees David and Marcel in the corner of the stage, talking though their bodies are moving too. Feliciano grins before making his way over, albeit a little wobbly.

“Less talking more dancing!” Feliciano yells into their ears and David looks up at him peevishly before throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“We’ve been dancing more than you have.”

“Lies! I have only stopped to drink.”

From the other side of them, Marcel laughs. “You should drink less and dance more.”

Feliciano shakes his head. “I need another actually. You two keep dancing. I will be back.” He subsequently pushes them together before leaving, pinching David’s behind lightly as he goes.

He’s just about reached the bar when he feels someone’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Hey.”

Fernando’s standing in front of him and Feliciano blames the lighting, blames the alcohol for making Fernando look absolutely fucking gorgeous. He’s sweaty and smiling and just beautiful.

They walk together to the bar and get shots they don’t taste. Fernando’s visibly buzzing next to him, like his body won’t stop moving to the music even if he wanted to. He wraps a hand around Feliciano’s waist and brings their faces close. Eyes wide, smile bright. Intoxicating.

*

The cold air tickle against their heated skin but either man heeds it any attention as they press close together against the wall of the club outside. They music is so loud that they can still hear it. Fernando sways his body in time with it, forcing Feliciano’s to do the same. They aren’t doing anything but dancing with each other, letting the music dictate their movements.

Fernando’s breathe is heavy on Feliciano’s skin as he slides his head close against his neck, his hand spread wide again his lower back, their hips moving in synchronization.

It’s like the rewound time and Sevilla was Buenos Aires. Three years ago.

Feliciano lets out a puff of laughter.

“Let’s go inside.”

Fernando moves away, his eyes and lips sharing a smile. “Yeah, okay.” He kisses Feliciano lightly before leading the way.

*

He gets lost within the music, within the people dancing around him, within the shouting all around. It isn’t until he feels a tug on his jeans does Fernando realize where he is exactly.

Feliciano is looking up at him, smile so bright it reflects in his eyes. Then he’s dancing back and forth, hands in the air and Fernando doesn’t think twice when he grabs his face.

He wishes he doesn’t have to think twice about his actions. But he has to.

*

They don’t discuss leaving together: it just happens. Feliciano rests his head on Fernando’s shoulder in the elevator and no one says anything about it. And really who would? Rafa’s laughing with Albert about nothing neither man can recall anyway. David and Marcel are all but hanging off each other (if Feliciano wasn’t so exhausted and intoxicated he would have teased them about it). So really, it doesn’t matter when Feliciano slides a hand across Fernando’s hips and tucks it into his jeans.

Fernando’s room is on a different floor and in moments like this, they are both glad for the fact. They bid everyone a good night in which they are responded with a campeons, campeons, ole, ole ole!. (It refreshes Feliciano who jumps in to sing enthusiastically.)

Just like many times before, Fernando undresses Feliciano. No matter how drunk they both are Fernando always takes care of Feliciano when they’re like this. It’s a silent agreement like how when they are home Feliciano will always make them breakfast.

Feliciano can barely keep himself up straight when Fernando leaves him undressed and sitting on the bed with his feet on the floor. He’s still feeling the glorious effects of the number of drinks he’s had tonight. When Fernando comes back to him from the washroom he laughs upon seeing Feliciano flopped onto the mattress, his legs still on the side of the bed. It takes more effort than it should to get Feliciano into bed properly – by which mean head on the pillow (Fernando can’t be arsed to anything with the rest of him).

But when he climbs into bed next to him, Feliciano immediately moulds his body to Fernando’s, tucking his neck onto Fernando’s chest. Fernando brings his fingers to his hair and cards through it slowly.

“I love it when you dance,” Feliciano whisperingly slurs against Fernando’s skin. His breathe is too warm, too sticky and it makes Fernando squirm a little.

“I dance all the time.”

“Better when you’re happy.”

Fernando’s fingers stop, as does the rise and fall of his chest.

“W-what?”

“When you’re happy you smile and dance. Sexier too.”

Fernando laughs and decides to blame all the drinks they both have had tonight. “Drunk. You are drunk.”

The response he gets is a lick to his left nipple. Fernando shudders lightly. He pulls on Feliciano’s hair.

“What do you want?”

A hand slides down and cups Fernando lightly, teasingly and he arches his body to it. Feliciano flips his body completely so he’s lying on top of him. And before Fernando can say thing Feliciano kisses him hard. He slides his fingers against the shell of his ear, a habit Fernando is quite fond of.

The first time they fucked all those years go they whispered and moaned and kissed and when it was all said and done, they both knew something had changed between them even if they didn’t say a single word other than each other’s names and fuck! They were so in tune with one another that it just flowed – they flowed, naturally and with second thoughts or excuses.

When Feliciano’s drunk he has to have Fernando inside him – another unspoken rule (well they discussed it once but he couldn’t justify it and Fernando really did not care). It doesn’t come as a surprise then when Feliciano fumbles as he tries to reach for his jeans which sit on the floor, ultimately looking for the condom that sits in a wallet. Fernando gives him a minute before laughing and hauling him by the waist.

“It’s fine.”

(And really it’s not. They have both been with others since the last time they did this and they know better. But right now, especially with their relationship being unsteady caught between unsaid words, neither man can justify it any other way.)

When he returns to the bed, Fernando easily overpowers him and has Feliciano underneath him – wide-eyed and ready – within seconds. He pins his wrists to the mattress and kisses him, just on the edge of brutal and gentle. Feliciano arches up, his hips pushing into Fernando’s. He moans into his mouth and if the circumstances were different Fernando might have drawn it out.

But he can’t. He won’t.

The way their bodies entwine with one another, the way Fernando knows to not stop until he’s all the way in, the way Feliciano taps on Fernando’s hip when he’s ready for more – it’s effortless and comfortable and them.

Their lips constantly touch – in a kiss, a caress, breathing against each other. Fernando lets up on Feliciano’s wrists only to wrap his hands around his torso instead, pressing the pads of his thumbs into his ribs as he fucks him harder. Feliciano in turn scrapes his fingernails against the skin of Fernando’s back. There will be marks left behind – there always are.

Fernando wraps his hand around Feliciano and strokes him until their breathing is matched with fast and unsteady puffs of air. A shake of Feliciano’s body and he’s coming, with his eyes closed, bottom lip between his teeth. He squeezes down, triggering Fernando. He’s loud as always and he climaxes with nothing less than a shout.

When Feliciano opens his eyes, blurry and tired, he smiles when he sees Fernando looking down at him with such fondness. He reaches up and wraps his arms around his neck, pulling Fernando down for a kiss.

Happy.

For now.

fic: from afar

2011-12-07T20:45:06Z

title: from afar
pairing: aitor karanka/esteban granero
rating: g
disclaimer: fiction
♥ miss_black91

Fourteen years.

He rationalizes it in his head like it means something – because it should mean something. And he’s in a position of power over him. That definitely means something. There are too many factors as to why this is wrong, why this wouldn’t work; too many pieces of a complicated puzzle that just don’t fit together no matter how much one may try.

Yet he can’t help it. Can’t help the way he looks over Esteban while they train. Can’t help but settle a loose hand on his lower back while explaining formations. Can’t help but admire the way Esteban engrosses himself in things like literature and music while the others film each other on their phones. Can’t help but slide into the spare seat next to him on airplanes and buses. Can’t help but be aware of Esteban’s old soul.

Aitor cannot help but feel the way he does. However, he keeps it to himself. It’s the one thing he can do.

fic: gone but not forgotten

2011-12-06T04:58:48Z

title: gone but not forgotten
pairing: gaston gaudio/mariano zabaleta
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
written for volume three of netcord

fic: malleable

2011-12-04T02:49:31Z

title: malleable
pairing: raul gonzalez/guti/fernando morientes
rating: r?
disclaimer: fiction
a/n: writing is my stress reliever. i apologize for any mistakes.

Push. Pull. Bend.

They no longer have anything in common except each other and memories – memories that lapse over better days and victories with a club that leaves a more sweet than bitter taste in their mouths. One has moved on, the other holding onto the thing makes his heart beat faster, the last fighting to get his youth back. They are so different that when they look at their lives collectively it’s difficult to see what had attracted them to each other.

Fernando sees Raul as the glue because there is no way he would be with Guti without him. He and Raul are different but they fall into sync with each other’s difference. Raul is the old fashion kind of man, friend and lover. He believes in honour, dignity and pride – believes a man is only as good as his word. In some ways Fernando looks up to Raul, is in awe of him even though Fernando is the older one. Raul is everything his father told him a man should be when he was a young boy.

Even now, Raul pushes harder than anyone else he knows and complains the least. Which he cannot say about someone else.

{*}

“Just for a moment, for a fucking moment, step back and think of someone that isn’t you, Guti.”

When the call cuts off, Guti is furious. He throws his phone and watches as it shatters against the wall. He stalks over to his kitchen and wildly searches the cabinets for anything that resembles alcohol and when he gets his hands on a bottle of premium vodka he pours in a glass to the rim.

And when he raises it, liquid overflowing and running down his fingertips, Raul’s face – solemn and weary – swims before his eyes. But the moment is gone and Guti closes his eyes before he swallows down more than half of the vodka.

There are too many reasons why his insides burn.

{*}

He calls him because it’s the only thing he can do.

“Have you heard from Guti recently? He called me two days ago but I was busy with the kids so I didn’t pick up. I tried calling him back but his phone’s been unavailable ever since.”

His voice is calm but it belies how he feels right now. This had to be his fault.

Fernando’s soft laughter filters over the line, sad and mocking at the same time. “He’s thirty five, Raul. Let him grow up.”

“What happened?” When Raul sighs he feels his body getting heavier and it hurts. He needs to stop doing this to himself.

“What do you think? Called me because he couldn’t reach you, like I had you in my fucking pocket or something.”

“Fer...”

“Look, Raul. What are we doing, huh? I kept this up for you but you need to stop letting him treat you like he does.”

When Raul is taking a shower an hour after he hangs up, he rests his forehead against the cool tiles and is thankful the water washes away his tears quickly.

{*}

Guti lands back in Madrid a day after he’s released and nearly drops his bags when he sees Fernando sitting in his favourite chair when he opens the door to his apartment.

“I wasn’t expecting a greeting party.”

“Why haven’t you called him back yet?”

Straight to the point Fernando is. Guti shrugs as he drops his bags in the corner by the door before making his way into the kitchen.

He’s going to need a glass of wine – good Spanish wine – if he’s going to deal with Fernando. When he’s about to pour, a grip tightens around his wrist and he needs to bite down on his cheek from calling out.

“I said,” Fernando says with a dangerous edge in his voice. “Why haven’t you called him back yet?”

Guti’s eyes flicker down to where they are joined before shoving Fernando hard.

“He sent you to check up on me? How fucking nice.”

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise when Fernando’s got him pinned against the counter, cold marble digging into his back, fingers tight against his collarbone.

“Me and you aren’t him and you so don’t fucking act like you don’t care that he’s worried about you.” Fernando’s face is ugly and thick with emotion and for some reason it breaks something in Guti but he doesn’t let it show.

“You came here to tell me to call him? You could have just called.”

Fernando lets up just for a quick second before he slams Guti’s body again. The pain that shoots through his lower half rips a yelp from his lips.

“Why are you such an asshole?”

But Guti doesn’t answer because Fernando doesn’t let him.

{*}

They have never gotten along the same way they both do with Raul. The chemistry just isn’t the same. It’s always a fight, some kind of battle in which they have to prove their worth to each other. Sarcasm and snark come naturally to Guti and Fernando matches him pound for pound. It has toned down over the years but it’s still evident when the three of them are together.

Why are they together if they don’t like each other?

Fernando pushes hard against Guti, never relenting as he tightens his grip on his wrists, his hips moving brutally. This is how they are, when it’s just the two of them – no Raul, no buffer. Just them, Fernando and Jose Maria – a clash of personalities, of energy. It never ends well.

{*}

Raul answers the phone and sighs when he hears the smile in Guti’s voice. He lets himself be placated by truths such as he’s back in Madrid, taking it easy, taking casually to teams but not signing anything, lies such as he’s happy, busy and sorry for not calling Raul sooner.

None of them are better than the other. They’re all weak in their own ways, some more visible than others.

Push. Pull. Bend.

deck the halls with bells of holly~

2011-11-03T00:04:38Z

hello all!

so the holidays are approaching and i would like to write you a little something! it doesn't have to be holiday themed but of course if you have friended this lj or my personal lj you know what fandoms i write in so lets keep it to that :)

i probably won't get around to writing until december sometime and i'll do another call out post then. but yeah! lurker or regular visitor, come one come all i say :)

♥
_runningmascara

fic: alors on danse

2011-10-27T08:17:01Z

title: alors on danse
pairing: karim benzema/cristiano ronaldo
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
a/n: pretty_panther left a prompt of "one sober, one drunk, and trying to get home" on commentporn a very long time ago. i had started this, only a sentence but opened up the doc tonight, deleted it and started over. also, this is for my table, prompt - sweat the title is from a song with the same title by stromae. love that song.

It’s a balmy night and the fact that they stumbled out of Fabrik, one of Madrid’s hottest clubs (in all sense of the word) adds to sigh of relieve that sounds from the group of futbolistas. Well, they stumble out; Cristiano walks out, perfectly sober, clean and crisp as he was when he had entered the disco a night of partying with the boys of the team.

Unfortunately, he cannot say the same for some of his teammates.

Marcelo and Pepe have broken into Brazilian songs which he can no longer decipher from their drunken slurring. They’re hanging off each other though they keep trying to get Karim to jump in (the fact that he doesn’t know Portuguese or Brazilian songs – for the most part – is not important). Esteban, Raul and Alvaro are laughing loudly, the joke they were sharing inside the club no longer relevant but still very funny.

So it falls on Cristiano to hail the taxis and to subsequently haul all their drunk asses inside. Raul somehow manages to steal shotgun and laughs when Marcelo, Alvaro and Esteban squeeze in the back. Cristiano is about to call out to them to let them know that he has another cab but Pirata slammed the door and the car takes off. Cristiano just shakes his head.

“Karim.”

When he doesn’t get a response, Cristiano whips around and lets out a groan when he sees the Frenchman taking a piss in a nearby bush.

“Hurry up!”

He can’t understand what he says but Cristiano hears Karim mumble something before laughing to himself. Cristiano laughs too.

“You know,” he says when Karim finishes and makes his way back to him, “don’t be surprised if you make the cover of a tabloid tomorrow, with your dick out for everyone to see.”

“My dick is awesome.”

Cristiano just pushes the big Frenchman towards the waiting taxi with a grin on his lips.

Something happens that has never happened before. Karim begins to sing. It’s low and in French but Cristiano recognizes it as a popular dance song. The striker must have forgotten where he is because he’s staring out the window, tapping his fingers against the door, singing like it’s the most natural thing to do. And it is so Cristiano joins in. Karim stops abruptly but quickly joins in again with a laugh when he sees that Cristiano knows the words (despite his accent being horrible).

The taxi situation ends up working in their favour as they live very close to each other. The driver pulls up to Karim’s house first and when he has trouble with opening the car door, Cristiano hands the driver a few bills before helping Karim out and to his door.

Karim opts for leaning on the door, his eyes closing, his lips wearing a smile.

“Not the time for sleep,” Cristiano says quietly as he pats his cheek lightly. “Come on. Where are your keys?”

His eyes flicker open slowly and his black lashes catch Cristiano’s attention. His eyes have a slight glaze to them but it doesn’t take away from brown depth and Cristiano finds himself leaning in slightly before catches himself.

“Uh, keys?”

Laughing, Karim goes into the pockets of his trousers and tosses them to him as soon as he has them out. He pushes off the door only to fall back again, mumbling something in French as he does so.

Cristiano manages to get the door open without too much difficult and goes in first. He gropes the wall for a light switch and squints when the entry way becomes drenched in illumination. Karim hurries pass him, walking a path that would not pass as a straight line even if his father was a cop.

“Mi casa es su casa.”

Cristiano closes the door behind him, shaking his head before following his teammate. He ends up in a room that’s Karim, simple and white. The Frenchman automatically throws on some music, some kind of French rap and Cristiano laughs.

“Okay, time for me to leave. Try not to be too hung over at training tomorrow,” he turns around to face the door before spinning back around. “Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

Karim waves his hand, already in the process of removing his clothes. He’s peeled off his sweat soaked shirt but his skin is still lined with perspiration, especially around his neck and collarbone. He looks around the room for something, unaware that a set of eyes are watching him closely.

“Stay. I can’t believe you don’t drink,” his words are slurred but that doesn’t stop him from walking over to a table-turned-into-bar. He pours in a healthy glass of rum and sips. “Stay.”

Cristiano shakes his head. “It’s late and with training tomorrow, I really don’t want Mourinho on our asses about being late.”

Karim is about to reply when the song switches to a song that must be his favourite because his face lights up in a huge smile and he begins to bob his head. The opening verse starts and he’s lost within the music, rapping along with the lyrics. Despite being near shitfaced drunk, he doesn’t miss a single word.

All Cristiano can do is watch in awe. Karim’s never very open with anyone, not in this sense anyway. He’s getting better with his Spanish and out of everyone in the team he speaks to Cristiano the most, feels the most comfortable with and has said it publically. But to see Karim’s inhibitions so low that they are nearly nonexistent right now, Cristiano almost wants to blink. He’s shirtless and rapping like it’s no one’s business and Cristiano doesn’t know what to do.

Karim is different – from the norm, from the others, from himself. And Cristiano won’t deny that he’s felt an attraction to him before, feels one now. Maybe it’s because he is unlike what Cristiano is attracted to. His body type is bigger and not as firm than what usually gets his attention, his head shaved whereas Cristiano likes something to hold onto – male or female. He’s quiet and doesn’t scream ‘confident’ in most situations.

Yet Cristiano is okay with this. He must be because he finds himself approaching his teammate and stopping right in front of him. When Karim becomes aware of his surroundings once again, he stops swaying his body, the drink still in his hand, a smile on his lips.

And Cristiano kisses him. He leans in and presses his body against Karim’s, bringing his hand to curl around a bare and damp shoulder. When it comes to first kisses Cristiano never does tentative, always gives it his all because he sees it as a first chance to make the initial impression. You can never have a do-over first kiss. So he places his lips against Karim’s and kisses him – not hard yet not soft – and when he feels Karim sway his body towards him, he kisses him a little harder.

The taste of rum is distinct and heavy on Karim’s tongue when Cristiano pushes past his lips. He can feel sweat against his skin as he skates his fingers up past his collarbone to his neck, cupping him in place as he kisses him without caution.

They end up on Karim’s bed minutes later with both of their clothes strewn everywhere. Karim’s naked but Cristiano’s still has his jeans on though unbuttoned and unzipped. He has the Frenchman under him, his body quivering as Cristiano kisses from his neck down to his waist. He raises his head just before going any further and when he sees Karim’s eyelids flickering. A thought comes into Cristiano’s mind, whether or not this is a good idea and really he doesn’t know if it is.

Yet he licks Karim’s cock from base to tip and doesn’t stop as he takes it into his mouth. He’s well aware of the quiet moan that comes from above him and he lets that along with the music be the soundtrack as he licks and sucks.

Perhaps the most odd thing to him isn’t the fact that he’s here, in the position he is in with a teammate, or that he brings said teammate off but when he’s done and looks up to see Karim’s blissed face, he gets up, buttons his jeans up and grabs his discarded shirt from the floor before leaning down and placing a kiss to Karim’s lips.

The Frenchman’s eyes whip open and when he sees that Cristiano is fully dressed again, he opens his lips to speak only to be cut off with a kiss again.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning. Maybe drink some water so you won’t wake up drunk.”

When he leaves, Karim’s laughter follows him on the way out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
notes:
1. cristiano is well known to not drink. if you don't believe me you can read it here
2. the song karim is singing in the cab is alors on danse by stromae it was a major hit club song in 2010
3. karim and cristiano do live pretty close to each other as he states in an interview where he also states that he's the most comfortable speaking spanish with cris (and kaka)

fic: winning iker casillas' affections prologue

2011-10-24T06:43:34Z

title: winning iker casillas' affections prologue
characters: iker casillas, sergio ramos, sara carbonero
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
summary: au. rookie reporter sara carbonero and her cameraman sergio ramos get the job of covering 2011's copa del rey final.

a/n: this is short and i may continue this idk. i like the concept behind it but writing longfics right now isn't something i can do easily atm :( so i'm okay with leaving it as i have or maybe making this into a wip. LOL i just decided that i will definitely make this into a WIP with hopefully long chapters :)

“Can you believe it, Sergio? Because, I can’t. I really can’t.”

Sergio Ramos laughs as he fiddles with his camera equipment. He has been a cameraman for seven years now – ever since he was eighteen. He was lucky to get into the business through his uncle who has shares in a local TV news program in Sevilla. But now he has been in Madrid for the last two and a half years working with Sara Carbonero, an upcoming sports journalist. They have worked on little sports segments for Telecino before but today both Sergio and Sara have been slated to cover the second leg of the Copa del Rey final, a clasico between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid. It’s a dream come true.

They start off the match on the side lines of the pitch at the Santiago Bernabeu, with Sara giving a rundown of the history the football clubs share, how important this match is for the rivalry and discussed pitch conditions. The camera loves Sara. She’s young and beautiful, with confidence just rolling off her. She did start off a little shaky but when they cut to the broadcasters in the booth, Sergio had told her to relax, even cracked a few jokes to loosen her up a bit and by the end of it she had been amazing.

The match turns out to be everything the fans expected and more. The pressure is mounted high as possible. The match starts off with great energy, the crowd never quiet even for a second. Seventeen minutes in, Cristiano Ronaldo nets one passed Victor Valdes. The stadium just roars with excitement as the fans can feel their team inching closer to glory. But Barcelona isn’t one just to sit back. Leo Messi ties it up two minutes before added time of the first half and both teams head into the locker room being tied up.

So it all comes down to the second half which erupts with explosive football as the pressure begins to build. Both clubs have three men cautioned but no one lets up. Madrid earns a free kick twenty meters outside of the box. Ronaldo lines up the ball and takes the kick. It bounces off Pepe’s head and comes in contact with Valdes’ hands. However, the goalkeeper isn’t able to freeze the ball and it bounces directly to the feet of Mesut Ozil. It’s an easy tap in and the crowd bursts into cheers once again. The clock unwinds, too quickly for Barcelona, too slowly for Madrid. But in the end Madrid is crowned the King’s Champions.

Sara smoothes a hand over her hand before she picks up the microphone. She is to interview one of the victorious winners but doesn’t know who yet. It’s a little nerve-frazzling. After all, these players were loved all cross the world and Sara is just a small time reporter trying to make it big.

“Shit!” Sergio swears after he turns off his ear piece. “Boss just said Casillas is on his way.” His smile is huge, his excitement poorly contained. “You’re going to interview Iker fucking Casillas!”

She does a little dance before hugging her laughing cameraman. After two and a half years of working together, they have developed a good friendship, one that surpasses the confines of their jobs. And though Sergio may not be the one who will being doing the one-on-one, he cannot help but share the excitement. Iker Casillas will be the first football he gets to record professionally.

When they see Real Madrid’s Captain making his way towards them, they split up and straighten, Sara with her microphone, Sergio with his camera carefully stowed on his shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Sara Carbonero with Telecino Sports,” She says a little timidly, star-struck really. It takes her a moment to realize that Iker has extended her hand but she eventually takes it, noticing that he doesn’t let go so quickly.

“Sara, Iker, I will count you in from ten,” Sergio says with a huge smile on his face. He’s dreamt of this moment ever since he first got into broadcasting. The goalkeeper turns his attention to him, his smile just as big.

“Not too long, yeah? We have some celebrating to do.” His eyes flicker with happiness and a little bit of teasing.

“Of course,” Sergio pauses to adjust the camera. “Congratulations by the way. Amazing final.”

He begins the countdown and Sara flashes her all-consuming smile when Sergio reaches to ‘1’. Even though she has one of the nation’s most celebrated athletes by her side, Sara has know settled down and is nothing but professional. She congratulates Iker immediately and asks him how it feels to win his first ever Copa del Rey, and to have finally won all possible competitions. In captain-like fashion, Iker answers diplomatically, praising both his team and his opponent on a hard fought match. He thanks the fans for supporting them as they had during the match and that they’ll continue fighting for the league until the very last second of the last match.

When Sergio calls it a wrap and stops recording, Sara thanks Iker for his time. To her surprise, Iker moves in for a kiss on to the cheek, one to each side, sharing a soft smile before moving towards the cameraman.

“Sorry, I never got your name.”

“Sergio.”

“Nice to meet you, Sergio.” He turns back to Sara. “Will you be covering the celebrations all night? We will be going to disco afterward. You two should come.” Something gets his attention far away and he lifts his hand to signal that he is coming before turning his attention to the reporter and her cameraman.

It’s Sergio who speaks up. “Yeah, we’d love to. Maybe you could give us your number?”

“Of course,” Iker replies and he gives his number to Sergio who programs it into his phone immediately. “We’re not sure where we’re going but just call me after we leave Cibeles.” He gives them a wave before leaving.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Sara fans herself, smiling devilishly. “How hot is he?”

Sergio laughs. “And he just invited us to their party. To a Real Madrid party!”

As they start to pack away the equipment, Sara thinks out loud. “I think he likes me.”

“Who?”

“Iker! Why else would he invite me?”

“Us,” Sergio says, trying his best to keep the bite out of his tone. “He invited both of us.”

“Sorry, how silly of me,” Sara says patronizingly as she pats his cheek before leaving. Sergio just shakes his head before he follows.

And thus began the competition of winning Iker Casillas’ affections.

fic: simple as shadows

2011-10-23T20:01:09Z

title: simple as shadows
fandom: sons of anarchy
pairing: chibs/juice
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: fiction
well here you go miss_black91. hopefully this is the first of many because they are so fucking obvious :D ♥ (my first pairing tag and much deserved :D)

Chibs is a simple man. He only needs his club, his family and good whiskey. A fine woman with thick curves from time to time suffices as well but Chibs sticks to simplicity. He’s lasted this long being the way he is so why change now?

Except something has happened to throw him off kilter and he doesn’t know what to do. In the beginning he ignores it, chalks it up as being stressed with all the shit with Jimmy, the IRA and Abel missing and essentially just needing someone to share a smoke and laugh with. He didn’t think of it as anything more, nothing beyond shooting the shit with a brother.

But somewhere along the lines he finds himself wondering why he wants to traces his fingertips along Juice’s mohawk instead of pushing him away when he does something stupid. And why he finds himself gravitating to the young man whenever he can, especially when he sees something is troubling him. Out of all the members of MC, Juice is his best friend, he really is. Chibs just doesn’t know when this happened.

{*}
“A’right, Juicy Boy, time to call it a night.”

Juice just waves his hand before taking another long swig of his whiskey straight up. He’s been more quietly lately, sticking to himself and Chibs notices that his usual bright smile is dulled and muted. When he doesn’t make a move, he walks over and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Juicy.”

Chibs moves his hands to haul him out of the chair when Juice reacts and not favourably for him. Within seconds, he pushed him away, no out of his chair.

“I don’t fucking need help.”

His words are slurred beyond reason, indicating damn well the opposite of his statement but Chibs doesn’t argue. He just puts up his hands in surrender instead.

“Look, Juicy Boy-”

He is promptly cut off as Juice comes at him full force, fingers curled around his neck as he backs him into a wall.

“Don’t fucking ‘Juicy Boy’ me, okay? I don’t need your bullshit. I don’t need any of this.”

His outburst catches Chibs completely off guard and though he just wants to chalk it up as Juice being completely trashed and out of his mind. Chibs reaches out and places a hand on top of Juice’s arm.

“A’right. A’right. Just take it easy.”

And like that, it’s like something snaps in his mind and Juice backs away quickly, like he’s been burned.

“Oh shit. Oh shit,” Juice mutters as he takes a seat once again and finishes off his drink.

Chibs is cautious as he approaches him, not sure why the younger man just exploded like he did. “Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off. If you want to be left alone, I’ll go.”

“No, no. Stay.” His voice is quite but Chibs hears him clearly, his pain too.

“What’s going on?”

Juice shakes his head, his body slumped forward and when he turns his eyes to him, Chibs slings an arm around his shoulders immediately.

“Whatever it is, Juicy, just fuck it, okay? Fuck it all and don’t forget I’m here for you. We all are.”

There’s a moment – a quick second perhaps – where Chibs thinks Juice is going to kiss him because his eyes flicker down to his lips and back right before he leans in. And when they hug, he cannot help but feel a little disappointed.

title: a wisp of a fantasy

2011-10-13T21:14:35Z

title: a wisp of a fantasy
pairing: sami khedira/mesut ozil
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
a/n: written for footballkink2’s prompt sami/mesut: ear fixation. sorry this took so incredibly long, anon :(

He doesn’t know when it started exactly. Maybe back in 2007 when they both debuted for the under-21 German side, young and full of excitement and self-assurance. Or maybe it was in South Africa, when being called up to represent their country on the world’s biggest stage was no longer a dream but reality. Or perhaps it began when they both touched down in one of the world’s amazing cities to play for a club like Real Madrid.

Or maybe it’s a random day after training in the locker room when Mesut is sitting on the bench with nothing but a towel gracing his hips, water droplets clinging dearly for life from his hair and failing as they fall onto his bare shoulders and back. He’s in his own world, not paying attention to anything around him, definitely not the set of eyes on him.

And really, Sami feels bad – horrible actually – for watching him like he does, like he’s intruding but he can’t help it. He doesn’t take his eyes off Mesut when he gets up from the bench and turns to his locker to retrieve his shorts... With Sami’s attention nowhere but on his back.

Then Mesut bends over to put on his shorts, dropping the towel as he pulls it up over his thighs. It’s only an inch but a glorious inch of Mesut’s ass Sami will not forget any time soon. When Mesut turns back around again and his gaze falls on him, Sami panics immediately but he is just waved over like Mesut hasn’t caught him staring.

So Sami walks over, telling himself to breathe and relax before he gives himself away and he smiles as he takes a seat on the bench Mesut had occupied earlier.

“Do you want to go for dinner or just get take out?” Mesut asks as he tips his head to the side and brings the towel to his hair, running it gently over his locks.

If Sami could see himself, he would be embarrassed because he’s staring with his eyes wide, utterly forgetting that he is in the locker room, all but eye-fucking his teammate – his friend. But he can’t so he doesn’t realize that if he was in a cartoon, this is the part where his jaw hits the floor. It isn’t until Mesut drops the towel next to him on the bench does he snap out of it.

“Sami?”

He feels his cheeks get hot all the way down his neck but he shakes it off mentally though he lets out a cough before looking his friend straight in the eyes.

“Let’s go for dinner?”

It turns into a question because Mesut is standing directly in front of him, bare-chested and playing with his hair, smoothing it behind his ears, distracting Sami without being aware.

His ears... despite the magnificent shape his body is in after arriving in Madrid, Sami cannot resist Meust’s ears. He doesn’t even know why. A foot fetish, toe fetish, nipple fetish... those make sense. An ear fetish? Not so much.

He’s thought about it... about what kissing Mesut’s ear would be like, to take the soft lobe into his mouth and suck on it gently and first, teasing, then hard and bruising – to the point where he has Mesut mewling and begging for more. Sami wants nothing more than to trace every inch of his shell with his tongue.

“Yeah, okay.” Mesut agrees but all Sami can focus on is the fact that he’s placing diamond studs in his ears. He should be ashamed of himself right now, for being aroused to the point of being half hard.

Sami just nods before deciding it’s time to head back to his own locker. He doesn’t want everyone to know he’s aroused, especially not his friend.

{*}

They have a team lunch today, which Sami and Mesut were supposed to be at 20 minutes ago but Mesut had kept on telling the other man that he would only be a second. Now they are late and Sami is getting texts and calls from everyone on the team, even Cristiano (who is delighting in the fact that he is not the last one this time).

He’s getting worried now. Mesut’s usually done before him but now he is taking an unusually long time to get ready. So Sami doesn’t think twice about entering his room.

“Mesut?”

When he doesn’t get a response back, Sami walks in a little further and is about to call out again when he hears a loud “fuck!” coming from the washroom.

“Mesut?” Sami calls out again as his fingers push open the door.

Right then and there, Sami’s fucked and not the way he wants. Mesut is standing bare-chested against the sink, leaning forward towards the mirror, a look of frustration on his face. Sami attempts to speak but instead he lets out a sound between a squeak and a gurgle and Mesut turns his in direction, surprised etched on his features before he smiles.

“Hey, Sami. I know we’re late but...”

“What ‘s wrong?”

Mesut’s cheeks flush lightly. “I bought these new earrings today but I can’t get it into my right ear.” He pulls the earlobe in question forward to show his friend. It’s angry, red all over. “I should just forget it.” But instead he turns back to the mirror and tries again.

He doesn’t know why he says it but he does.

“Can I help?”

Mesut laughs meekly as he locks eyes with Sami in the bathroom mirror. “Sure, why not?”

Sami all but trips over his feet as he walks closer to his teammate. He steps up behind him and reaches out his hand and shivers slightly when Mesut drops the cold piece of jewellery into his grasp (of course, Sami will never admit it to anyone).

“The left one went in without much of a fight but the right one is being a bitch.”

Breathing in slowly, Sami curls his fingers around the earring before bringing up to Mesut’s ear. He gets this sick feeling in his stomach, like the bile in his system is about to rise and find itself on the floor of Mesut’s bathroom. He takes a deep breath, cursing himself quietly for being so dramatic. He is just helping his friend. He can do this.

“Sami?”

His eyes snap up to the mirror where they connect with Mesut’s, who is looking at him quizzically.

“S-sorry,” Sami stutters before gently pressing the earring against the front of Mesut’s ear with one hand and holds the back with the other.

As clichéd as it might sound, Sami feels as though time as stopped, frozen actually because he cannot move a muscle, not even if wanted to. And what he wants is to bend down and bite the top of the delicate ear he has between his fingers, to lick every inch...

“Is it in?”

Sami jumps when his fantasy is shattered and Mesut swears when he presses too hard.

“Shit, shit, shit! I’m so sorry, Mesut.”

“Is it in?”

Sami looks down and sees the silver back end protrude angrily from the red lobe. “Y-yeah, it is. Your ear is really red though. Sorry.”

Mesut laughs. “That’s okay, just put the back on and I’ll clean it. Then we can finally leave.”

Sami curses under his breath, thinking he was safe from touching his friend any further. His patience is really being put to the test. With a shaky yet steady grip Sami grasps the backing and presses it to the tip of the earring, sliding it into place.

Then Mesut is pulling away from his touch to lean closer to inspect his ear in the mirror, smiling when he deems it uninfected. He eventually turns around and though his eyes flicker with something else for a moment, he beams up to Sami with a contagious smile.

“Thanks, Sami. Should we get going, yeah?” He pats his cheek affectionately before walking out of the bathroom.

Sami doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

Lunch turns into drinks which turns into dinner then drinks again and it ends up being close to three o’clock in the morning before they arrive back to their place (which is still considerably early for their outings). They walk to their rooms respectively; however, right when Sami has his fingers curled around the handle to his, he hears Mesut swear loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Sami asks as he turns around immediately, already reaching Mesut before he gets an answer.

Mesut lets out a forced laugh. “Nothing. I’ll be okay.”

“Mesut,” Sami’s tone is soft but serious that Mesut sighs before telling him the truth.

“It’s the fucking earring. Hurts.”

Automatically, without thinking, Sami closes the distance between them and touches the ear in question and suddenly, it’s like the air between them ceases to exist. Mesut’s eyes lock onto his and Sami doesn’t move his fingers, just rests them on the shell of his ear.

It’s silent except the sharp inhale of breath and then:

“Do it.”

Somewhere deep in his mind, Sami knows what he’s supposed to do rather than what he wants to do but his desires get the best of him. And he presses his lips against Mesut’s and when he doesn’t get a response Sami pulls away like he’s been burned.

“I...I-”

“Again.”

Mesut’s eyes are dark and serious. He reaches out and pulls Sami back to him by curling his fingers around his waist. “Do it again.”

And when Sami doesn’t, doesn’t move forward, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything, Mesut does. He kisses him carefully but with conviction and Sami relents, letting his body mould to Mesut’s.

It feels a little weird, to be kissing his friend, Mesut – the man who’s been occupying his mind for a while now. Yet, he doesn’t pull away, can’t pull away. This is what he’s wanted for a long time now.

A moan against his lips has Sami grasping for anything as he slides his fingers into Mesut’s hair, brushing against the shell of his ear. Mesut shivers and lets out a moaned ‘again’ and it takes a moment for Sami to understand what he’s meant to do before he traces the delicate skin of his ear carefully.

This is what he has wanted for a while now and it is definitely better than the fantasy. Mesut moves so easily with his body, arching in to his touch and moaning oh-so quietly. Their hips align with one another and that slight friction frizzles through their bodies. But Sami hasn’t completely let go of his inhibitions just yet and doesn’t push further. He’s not sure what he’s doing and Mesut is more than a conquest.

However, the decision is taken out of his hands as Mesut wraps his arms around him and backs up against the wall, pressing Sami close to his front. He bites down on Sami’s lips lightly but enough to have him feel it and Sami responds full force. He shoves his hands under Mesut’s shirt and pulls at it before the younger man gets the hint and rips it over his head. Sami takes just as long to get his own off but when he does they latch onto each other once again.

It’s Mesut who opens both of their jeans and it’s he who frees their cocks and it’s his hand which wraps around them and strokes slowly.

Sami breathes out slowly, leaning in close enough to rest his forehead against Mesut’s, eyes closing. It feels too good to stop, to go back and decide this was a bad idea. When a hand touches his, he opens his eyes and sees Mesut bringing it up to his face. He doesn’t understand until his thumb touches his ear.

To relive every single fantasy he has had about Mesut... Sami thinks he is dreaming, that this cannot be real under any circumstance but here he is, pressing the younger man against the wall having his dick stroked while he fondles the ear of the man who has been feeding this fantasy for a quite some time now. He breathes in deep, praying he doesn’t come so quickly.

Mesut’s rocking with him, his hand alternating between fast and slow, whimpering when he slides over the head of his own cock. Sami moves his head to the side and takes Mesut’s earlobe between his lips and sucks lightly, tasting the metal of the earring on his tongue, increasing the pressure when Mesut does. They move in perfect synchronization.

When he feels himself close to climax, Sami lets go of Mesut’s ear but blows on it gently. When he feels the younger man shiver beneath him, he does it again – repeating the motion of sucking on the lobe and letting his breath fall over it. Mesut’s breath hitches and Sami takes liberty of biting down particularly hard one last time.

Mesut comes first – only by seconds because when Sami feels his cock wet from Mesut’s, he follows after him, moaning against the shell of his ear.

He wipes his hand on the side of his jeans before taking Sami’s face between them and kissing him deeply. When he feels the slight stubble of Sami’s cheek he laughs as he pulls away. When he picks up his shirt and walks towards his bedroom, he knows he doesn’t need to tell Sami to follow.