a coastal awareness
Title: A Coastal Awareness
Rating: R
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
WordCount: 1452
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note&Warning: baronessbadger felt that a lot of you needed this. also, please do not aid the need to light a match after reading this.
Voice message after voice message was each of Sergio’s family, and even Lara this time, telling him the same thing-call when you feel like talking. As soon as he closed the front door, on cue was his Iphone chiming with a full inbox. Grimly, he told himself it was almost like a routine of theirs. And when he let enough calm senses come to his head, he reminded himself to truthfully call them tomorrow because out of everyone they’re the least to deserve his sour attitude by defeat.
The last voice message was nothing but wind, rising high and low in a night howl in his ear before he deleted it. It wouldn’t be the first.
He took a scorching hot shower just to permanently erase the remains of the game, and didn’t even bother to put on a shirt or boxers, just his old 05/06 Roja sweatpants he accidentally dug up before the game. His hair was a tangled damp mess by the time his head was discomforted on a pillow, and even then he couldn’t sleep. It was ringing behind his eyes but his mind was still reeling, repeatedly, and his brows were left in a firm knit together.
It felt like there was absolutely nothing he could do to make that feeling go away. That he had to let it torture him.
His Iphone vibrated on the nightstand for 18 minutes, and he couldn’t get himself to check it. Physically it was a draining, and mentally it was pointless.
But after a while a headache came on, his body shivered in anxiety, “..Shit,” he groaned.
There’s only ever one person who would call for so long and make Sergio sit up in bed, stare into the dark and hope that person doesn’t magically show up even if his skin exudes immediate warmth of abashed desire for them, to be here and to eat off some of the relenting substance clogging his chest. Twice already he’s imagined someone tapping at his patio door, and he hates how easily dependant he’s become within 5 minutes. How his body will surely surrender under the weight of thundering lust.
The second time he hears someone at his back door, it isn’t his imagination. Just the walk there alone is tunnel vision, his blood pumps violently through his veins like his quench for thirst is about to end. He hates it, but encourages it.
In the dark, standing past his kitchen, he can already see the bodily figure waiting through his glass doors. They stand their turned away, patient, hidden gaze under their inevitable hoodie.
With no hesitation whatsoever, Sergio startles the person as he hastily fumbles the door bolts.
Fernando doesn’t even have a chance to speak before Sergio is dragging him inside by his hoodie pockets.
“Who told you to come over?” he quickly spits out, deadly flipping Fernando’s hood off his head.
Fernando looks at him incredulous, still startled, but expectant. He’s calm as ever when he speaks. “Not you, of course.” There’s a visible line of sentiment in his voice that Sergio wants to crush to pieces. “I just thought that you needed-”
“How dare you.” Sergio states over him, like venom. He’s trying to let anger overshadow the vulnerability in his eyes and his voice, all except the shuddering movements of his that he can’t control for the life of him, his hands balled up in quivering fists by his side. “I’m not some child who needs to be pitied over a scratch, if so where the fuck were you the last two Clásicos of this season? If I’m not mistaken, we fucking lost those, too.”
“Sergio-” Fernando starts, like a sigh, but he’s thrown against the wall with a light switch stabbing his back and Sergio’s in his face, identically to how he was with the referee of the game except nothing really is restraining him from ripping Fernando in parts if he wanted to.
He breathes in his face like he ran a mile, his fingers burn in the strength he gives gripping Fernando’s against the wall, but despite all the venom he had before his next words are small and frail.
“...I’m tired, Fer.” His whole act falls apart and he rests his head in the crook of Fernando’s neck, his entire body subduing against his, letting his limbs power down. “I just,.. I want to erase this day.”
He can’t imagine what Fernando’s thinking and how his face looks a, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if Fernando laughs at him or decides to leave, because in a way he thinks he deserves it, every bit of it. Fernando was only trying to help, but Sergio burns him instead of graciously allowing him to. And funnily, Sergio thinks back to that voice message he deleted, thinking how he should have saved it knowing it came from Fernando and his uncorrectable need to be speechless when needed the most to say something.
Like now, Sergio notes, before he feels cold finger tips slithering across his stomach and getting a hold each side of his hipbones.
“Then let’s erase this day.”
Sergio pulls back and looks at the way Fernando’s eyes are on him, how red his nose and cheeks are, how there’s not a hint of pity but just radiant confidence by the moonlight pouring in from the windows surrounding them and against steel kitchen hardware. Soft lips press upon his, adoringly, lingering as much as they can, urging the life within Sergio’s own and he repeatedly, heatedly gives what Fernando wants out him. Instinctively growing hungry with the way Fernando’s mouth fits against his, like a missing puzzle piece, and once soft kisses turn into fierce ones, teeth nearly cutting their lips, plundering the thought to ever stop and breathe. He can feel Fernando heat up like iron through his buttoned down shirt, never giving another thought before he’s popping them open between their bodies leaving Fernando to moan in his mouth, turned on by each button that find it’s way on the floor like heavy petals.
Sergio’s pulling them away from the wall to only lead them onto another, at the same time Fernando’s ripping off his Converse with each heel of his foot. Once they’re scattered in a trail with the hoodie, Fernando’s back is smashed against the wall in the hallway and his mouth is ravaged once more with Sergio’s. His voice is barely relevant through their mess, but what he says invites more uncontrollable vehement in Sergio’s blood from then on.
“-You need to fuck me like you hate that game.”
Sergio doesn’t remember picking him up and throwing him on his bed. He doesn’t remember hearing Fernando’s zipper crack or his voice crack even more in his mouth, or trying to pull apart the seam rim of Fernando’s underwear before he pulled it off himself, the one clothing he could manage to keep intact through the cloudiness of his head. They don’t bother taking his half buttoned shirt off completely, just rolled up enough to show how hard Fernando’s nipples are and how delicious they appear in the pale complexion of his body under night’s gaze.
Suckling sounds and muffled whimpers fill the room up like a sea shell, following the rest of days in Sergio’s bedroom to come. He licks and bites patches of Fernando’s abs, digs his nails further and further into handfuls of flesh, drowning out the talks of disappointment still going on in the back of his head. But he doesn’t worry about it, not when Fernando pulls his hair and bites his lips and his tongue and tells him what exactly he needs to do in the most intense keen Sergio’s ears have ever caught.
“Fuck me like it’s your last.” - “Fuck me like you never want to see me again, Sergio.”
Sergio himself has to let out a moan against Fernando’s deeply abused lips. He has to bash Fernando’s wrists above his head and into what’s left of the mattress under the pillow, feel Fernando’s murmurs against his sweaty neck and his body unravel more underneath him, knowing everything that he’s about to do is going to hurt, but a damn good hurt for the two of them.
It’s only right. Fernando knows he’s the key to feeding the inferno within Sergio, and knew coming here would only be them falling into a higher Fahrenheit, a deadly one. That his screams would be nothing Sergio would take in account to slow down, but to raise the temperature even higher and fuck harder until they honestly melted.
Smoke will fill the roof of Sergio’s bedroom, and it wouldn’t be the first it had.
Rating: R
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
WordCount: 1452
Disclaimer: We'll never know.
Note&Warning: baronessbadger felt that a lot of you needed this. also, please do not aid the need to light a match after reading this.
Voice message after voice message was each of Sergio’s family, and even Lara this time, telling him the same thing-call when you feel like talking. As soon as he closed the front door, on cue was his Iphone chiming with a full inbox. Grimly, he told himself it was almost like a routine of theirs. And when he let enough calm senses come to his head, he reminded himself to truthfully call them tomorrow because out of everyone they’re the least to deserve his sour attitude by defeat.
The last voice message was nothing but wind, rising high and low in a night howl in his ear before he deleted it. It wouldn’t be the first.
He took a scorching hot shower just to permanently erase the remains of the game, and didn’t even bother to put on a shirt or boxers, just his old 05/06 Roja sweatpants he accidentally dug up before the game. His hair was a tangled damp mess by the time his head was discomforted on a pillow, and even then he couldn’t sleep. It was ringing behind his eyes but his mind was still reeling, repeatedly, and his brows were left in a firm knit together.
It felt like there was absolutely nothing he could do to make that feeling go away. That he had to let it torture him.
His Iphone vibrated on the nightstand for 18 minutes, and he couldn’t get himself to check it. Physically it was a draining, and mentally it was pointless.
But after a while a headache came on, his body shivered in anxiety, “..Shit,” he groaned.
There’s only ever one person who would call for so long and make Sergio sit up in bed, stare into the dark and hope that person doesn’t magically show up even if his skin exudes immediate warmth of abashed desire for them, to be here and to eat off some of the relenting substance clogging his chest. Twice already he’s imagined someone tapping at his patio door, and he hates how easily dependant he’s become within 5 minutes. How his body will surely surrender under the weight of thundering lust.
The second time he hears someone at his back door, it isn’t his imagination. Just the walk there alone is tunnel vision, his blood pumps violently through his veins like his quench for thirst is about to end. He hates it, but encourages it.
In the dark, standing past his kitchen, he can already see the bodily figure waiting through his glass doors. They stand their turned away, patient, hidden gaze under their inevitable hoodie.
With no hesitation whatsoever, Sergio startles the person as he hastily fumbles the door bolts.
Fernando doesn’t even have a chance to speak before Sergio is dragging him inside by his hoodie pockets.
“Who told you to come over?” he quickly spits out, deadly flipping Fernando’s hood off his head.
Fernando looks at him incredulous, still startled, but expectant. He’s calm as ever when he speaks. “Not you, of course.” There’s a visible line of sentiment in his voice that Sergio wants to crush to pieces. “I just thought that you needed-”
“How dare you.” Sergio states over him, like venom. He’s trying to let anger overshadow the vulnerability in his eyes and his voice, all except the shuddering movements of his that he can’t control for the life of him, his hands balled up in quivering fists by his side. “I’m not some child who needs to be pitied over a scratch, if so where the fuck were you the last two Clásicos of this season? If I’m not mistaken, we fucking lost those, too.”
“Sergio-” Fernando starts, like a sigh, but he’s thrown against the wall with a light switch stabbing his back and Sergio’s in his face, identically to how he was with the referee of the game except nothing really is restraining him from ripping Fernando in parts if he wanted to.
He breathes in his face like he ran a mile, his fingers burn in the strength he gives gripping Fernando’s against the wall, but despite all the venom he had before his next words are small and frail.
“...I’m tired, Fer.” His whole act falls apart and he rests his head in the crook of Fernando’s neck, his entire body subduing against his, letting his limbs power down. “I just,.. I want to erase this day.”
He can’t imagine what Fernando’s thinking and how his face looks a, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if Fernando laughs at him or decides to leave, because in a way he thinks he deserves it, every bit of it. Fernando was only trying to help, but Sergio burns him instead of graciously allowing him to. And funnily, Sergio thinks back to that voice message he deleted, thinking how he should have saved it knowing it came from Fernando and his uncorrectable need to be speechless when needed the most to say something.
Like now, Sergio notes, before he feels cold finger tips slithering across his stomach and getting a hold each side of his hipbones.
“Then let’s erase this day.”
Sergio pulls back and looks at the way Fernando’s eyes are on him, how red his nose and cheeks are, how there’s not a hint of pity but just radiant confidence by the moonlight pouring in from the windows surrounding them and against steel kitchen hardware. Soft lips press upon his, adoringly, lingering as much as they can, urging the life within Sergio’s own and he repeatedly, heatedly gives what Fernando wants out him. Instinctively growing hungry with the way Fernando’s mouth fits against his, like a missing puzzle piece, and once soft kisses turn into fierce ones, teeth nearly cutting their lips, plundering the thought to ever stop and breathe. He can feel Fernando heat up like iron through his buttoned down shirt, never giving another thought before he’s popping them open between their bodies leaving Fernando to moan in his mouth, turned on by each button that find it’s way on the floor like heavy petals.
Sergio’s pulling them away from the wall to only lead them onto another, at the same time Fernando’s ripping off his Converse with each heel of his foot. Once they’re scattered in a trail with the hoodie, Fernando’s back is smashed against the wall in the hallway and his mouth is ravaged once more with Sergio’s. His voice is barely relevant through their mess, but what he says invites more uncontrollable vehement in Sergio’s blood from then on.
“-You need to fuck me like you hate that game.”
Sergio doesn’t remember picking him up and throwing him on his bed. He doesn’t remember hearing Fernando’s zipper crack or his voice crack even more in his mouth, or trying to pull apart the seam rim of Fernando’s underwear before he pulled it off himself, the one clothing he could manage to keep intact through the cloudiness of his head. They don’t bother taking his half buttoned shirt off completely, just rolled up enough to show how hard Fernando’s nipples are and how delicious they appear in the pale complexion of his body under night’s gaze.
Suckling sounds and muffled whimpers fill the room up like a sea shell, following the rest of days in Sergio’s bedroom to come. He licks and bites patches of Fernando’s abs, digs his nails further and further into handfuls of flesh, drowning out the talks of disappointment still going on in the back of his head. But he doesn’t worry about it, not when Fernando pulls his hair and bites his lips and his tongue and tells him what exactly he needs to do in the most intense keen Sergio’s ears have ever caught.
“Fuck me like it’s your last.” - “Fuck me like you never want to see me again, Sergio.”
Sergio himself has to let out a moan against Fernando’s deeply abused lips. He has to bash Fernando’s wrists above his head and into what’s left of the mattress under the pillow, feel Fernando’s murmurs against his sweaty neck and his body unravel more underneath him, knowing everything that he’s about to do is going to hurt, but a damn good hurt for the two of them.
It’s only right. Fernando knows he’s the key to feeding the inferno within Sergio, and knew coming here would only be them falling into a higher Fahrenheit, a deadly one. That his screams would be nothing Sergio would take in account to slow down, but to raise the temperature even higher and fuck harder until they honestly melted.
Smoke will fill the roof of Sergio’s bedroom, and it wouldn’t be the first it had.