perfect stranger
Title: Perfect Stranger
Rating: PG-14
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres (skocker!)
Wordcount: 854
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: Inspired by Civil Twilight.
The dark dips around him as he waits, leaning against his car in a deserted parking lot of a hotel. City lights bloom and cars roar against the streets from afar. His mind is dulling it all, numbing out his body from the sick adrenaline in his veins and there's only so much he can take waiting before he snaps, abandon the whole ordeal, and go home empty like all his other nights-suffer the sting of his skin, the howl of agony in his bones.
This time, his wait runs short. There's a slick black car that pulls in and parks precisely beside his-out of all the other spots-with a soothing turn. He can feel his breath stutter, and see it's puffs in the cold air. He doesn't move from his spot, even when a car door slams and a presence of another stands motionless beside him.
“Sergio?” The voice placid, achingly clear and attentive.
He turns to a pair of brown earthly eyes, wiser than his own-ones that hold the vital key. “Fernando.” He affirms. Trying to sound as even as possible, but he knows the other man, his narrow eyes, that trying to mask the desperation in his voice is worthless.
“Shall we?” Apologetic slips through Fernando's words, and Sergio can see it his eyes, the pity. That he's already been read like an open book from one look alone; a broken mess.
When they've entered their room, of which everything is whisked clean of it's previous filth in a hurry, Sergio suddenly doesn't know how to breathe. Everything's so surreal, and yet he trembles of reality as Fernando stands close to him, gently releasing him of his coat, button after button at a luxurious time. Their eyes don't fluctuate from each other. His gloves and scarf and coat are off his body, Fernando's hands are gone. Sergio stands there before him, waiting for another inch of his fingers to work magic again, anywhere. But Fernando presses his cold(but feverish-)face in his neck, and drags Sergio's arms around his waist.
Almost at panic, Sergio's rescued. “Undress me.”
His mind is at bay, hesitate and still lack of control, but manages the order. And every move makes him anxious, the breath on his neck growing even more anxious.
When the little of their clothes pool at their feet, their coats, Sergio feels lost again, but Fernando quickly adds, “..all of me.”
Sergio pulls back, because his heart quickens in his throat of the demand Fernando's released. Then there's soft hands cupping his face and vivid brown, blown pupils gazing into him, trying to rip the gauze from his own.
“It's alright.” Fernando murmurs, meeting their foreheads-brushing their lips. Sergio heart lulls.
He tries desperately not to shake too much as his fingers begin at the hem of Fernando's sweater. Pulling it up and over his lean torso, the canvas of pallid-like skin. He's much quicker and calmer when he lets loose of the belt, unzipping him of his jeans. Auricomous hair shades Fernando's scented eyes, and Sergio almost wants to devour him. He quickly pulls his shirt off and slips out of his jeans.
Then there's silence, the softness of the drizzles against the window and breathing. Fernando's hands are on his cheeks again, caressing their lips together in a contrast of hot and cold. Sergio wants this so much that it overwhelms him and grows thick in his chest, against tempting bare of theirs meeting, and he can't stop trembling for the strength, of how it is overbearingly insane. But Fernando's unwinding him, making him understand. Kissing him mercifully, obliterating all the ache and anguish he's battled with, as if it were his own. And Sergio's left clueless of his raw moans.
Every touch is feather-like, enough. Firm and meaningful of so much that can't be spoken. The trip to the bed is non-existent, and the grazing of their tongues makes it thoughtlessly so. He feels them grow feverous against each other, hearts pounding like drums behind their rib cage-worth of a soundtrack.
Fernando's kissing him across his face, all over(his eyes, his shoulders, his nose, his neck, his chin-), and he soaks all of him, letting his troubles fade away from his worn muscles. Their jeans disappear in between somehow, and they rock and rub together in a fashion that Sergio tries to fathom, but half of his mind has left him. It's overwhelms him in- in Fernando, and this frame of time structured just for this.
Breathlessly, Fernando questions at his ear, “How do you feel?”
Sergio draws a breath of air when legs wrap around his waist. He's almost trapped in the taste of skin.
“Human.” He rumbles, quickly seeking deep into the valley of his neck that Fernando croaks a sigh of.
And he repeats it in his head, human, because until now he never knew that the answer was so easy to utter, to sum up.
It's like Fernando knew the entire time. “Just like me.” Muttering sweetly to him, as they drown in the brisk of night.
Rating: PG-14
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres (skocker!)
Wordcount: 854
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note: Inspired by Civil Twilight.
The dark dips around him as he waits, leaning against his car in a deserted parking lot of a hotel. City lights bloom and cars roar against the streets from afar. His mind is dulling it all, numbing out his body from the sick adrenaline in his veins and there's only so much he can take waiting before he snaps, abandon the whole ordeal, and go home empty like all his other nights-suffer the sting of his skin, the howl of agony in his bones.
This time, his wait runs short. There's a slick black car that pulls in and parks precisely beside his-out of all the other spots-with a soothing turn. He can feel his breath stutter, and see it's puffs in the cold air. He doesn't move from his spot, even when a car door slams and a presence of another stands motionless beside him.
“Sergio?” The voice placid, achingly clear and attentive.
He turns to a pair of brown earthly eyes, wiser than his own-ones that hold the vital key. “Fernando.” He affirms. Trying to sound as even as possible, but he knows the other man, his narrow eyes, that trying to mask the desperation in his voice is worthless.
“Shall we?” Apologetic slips through Fernando's words, and Sergio can see it his eyes, the pity. That he's already been read like an open book from one look alone; a broken mess.
When they've entered their room, of which everything is whisked clean of it's previous filth in a hurry, Sergio suddenly doesn't know how to breathe. Everything's so surreal, and yet he trembles of reality as Fernando stands close to him, gently releasing him of his coat, button after button at a luxurious time. Their eyes don't fluctuate from each other. His gloves and scarf and coat are off his body, Fernando's hands are gone. Sergio stands there before him, waiting for another inch of his fingers to work magic again, anywhere. But Fernando presses his cold(but feverish-)face in his neck, and drags Sergio's arms around his waist.
Almost at panic, Sergio's rescued. “Undress me.”
His mind is at bay, hesitate and still lack of control, but manages the order. And every move makes him anxious, the breath on his neck growing even more anxious.
When the little of their clothes pool at their feet, their coats, Sergio feels lost again, but Fernando quickly adds, “..all of me.”
Sergio pulls back, because his heart quickens in his throat of the demand Fernando's released. Then there's soft hands cupping his face and vivid brown, blown pupils gazing into him, trying to rip the gauze from his own.
“It's alright.” Fernando murmurs, meeting their foreheads-brushing their lips. Sergio heart lulls.
He tries desperately not to shake too much as his fingers begin at the hem of Fernando's sweater. Pulling it up and over his lean torso, the canvas of pallid-like skin. He's much quicker and calmer when he lets loose of the belt, unzipping him of his jeans. Auricomous hair shades Fernando's scented eyes, and Sergio almost wants to devour him. He quickly pulls his shirt off and slips out of his jeans.
Then there's silence, the softness of the drizzles against the window and breathing. Fernando's hands are on his cheeks again, caressing their lips together in a contrast of hot and cold. Sergio wants this so much that it overwhelms him and grows thick in his chest, against tempting bare of theirs meeting, and he can't stop trembling for the strength, of how it is overbearingly insane. But Fernando's unwinding him, making him understand. Kissing him mercifully, obliterating all the ache and anguish he's battled with, as if it were his own. And Sergio's left clueless of his raw moans.
Every touch is feather-like, enough. Firm and meaningful of so much that can't be spoken. The trip to the bed is non-existent, and the grazing of their tongues makes it thoughtlessly so. He feels them grow feverous against each other, hearts pounding like drums behind their rib cage-worth of a soundtrack.
Fernando's kissing him across his face, all over(his eyes, his shoulders, his nose, his neck, his chin-), and he soaks all of him, letting his troubles fade away from his worn muscles. Their jeans disappear in between somehow, and they rock and rub together in a fashion that Sergio tries to fathom, but half of his mind has left him. It's overwhelms him in- in Fernando, and this frame of time structured just for this.
Breathlessly, Fernando questions at his ear, “How do you feel?”
Sergio draws a breath of air when legs wrap around his waist. He's almost trapped in the taste of skin.
“Human.” He rumbles, quickly seeking deep into the valley of his neck that Fernando croaks a sigh of.
And he repeats it in his head, human, because until now he never knew that the answer was so easy to utter, to sum up.
It's like Fernando knew the entire time. “Just like me.” Muttering sweetly to him, as they drown in the brisk of night.