Snow in the Dream
Title: Snow in the Dream
Pairing: Pato/David Beckham
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Inspired by this challenge.
---
He's rough with you, all hands and mouth and you don't even think to complain. It's easy to explain away, his fingers along your sides, digging in, leaving ragged scratch marks that Stephany doesn't even think to question. He bites along your jaw, down toward your collarbone and you imagine he loves you. Loves the way you taste, the way your head tips back when he presses his mouth against your throat.
But you're not stupid enough to believe it's love, even though you are. In love. With him. It's not like he was your idol, but you look up to him. Respect him. But even more, you love him. You can't help it. He gives you what you want, he cares enough to make sure that you're never left out of anything. If it wasn't for the way he shoves you up against the door, you'd think he was just being nice. But it's more than that, because he's nice to everyone, but you're the only one on the team he fucks.
Which is just fine with you, because you know you're not special, no matter what people tell you. But every time you score, every time he crosses the ball and it finds your feet, you feel special. When he wraps his arms around you, it's like you're the only person in the world. It only lasts a second or two, flitting images as if from a dream. But it's there, you can replay the matches Stephany DVRs for you. Pause, rewind and play again. Over and over until you see it in your dreams.
It's not a dream. Not when you're on your knees in front of him. Your mouth on his cock, his hands in your hair. He twists, pulling you closer and you love everything about him. The way his skin feels against your tongue, the way he tastes when he comes, the jerk of your head when he pulls at your hair. You lift your gaze and he gives you this look, like he could eat you. And you'd do anything for that look. You do anything for that look.
He fucks you in the back of your car. In the back of his. In Minello. In your flat when Stephany's gone. In his house, the locker room after a game, the bathroom of a restaurant you were at with the rest of the team. You cannot get enough of him and you know you're lucky. You also know that this can't last forever. Even if he stays in Milan, snubbing his team in America, you can't hide forever. Not from Victoria, not from Stephany. But you don't think about the future. You think about David's hand on the back of your neck, his cock inside you, the way he arches under you when you thrust.
You live from one training to the next. From the glimpse of him to the taste to the moments when he touches you. Incidental intimacy that could drive you mad if you ever thought about it. But you've perfected the fine art of denial. This is how you can pretend that he loves you, that you are what he looks forward to. When you're around other people, Stephany or your parents or even the rest of your teammates, it's easy to forget. You don't think about him.
But when you're alone, it's all you do.
In bed, with just your hand on your cock, you picture him above you. His hands running along your body. You arch into your hand, coming hard with your eyes squeezed tight. You roll over, sticky with sweat and come, and you dream about Milan in winter, snow on the pitch and David Beckham.
Pairing: Pato/David Beckham
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Inspired by this challenge.
---
He's rough with you, all hands and mouth and you don't even think to complain. It's easy to explain away, his fingers along your sides, digging in, leaving ragged scratch marks that Stephany doesn't even think to question. He bites along your jaw, down toward your collarbone and you imagine he loves you. Loves the way you taste, the way your head tips back when he presses his mouth against your throat.
But you're not stupid enough to believe it's love, even though you are. In love. With him. It's not like he was your idol, but you look up to him. Respect him. But even more, you love him. You can't help it. He gives you what you want, he cares enough to make sure that you're never left out of anything. If it wasn't for the way he shoves you up against the door, you'd think he was just being nice. But it's more than that, because he's nice to everyone, but you're the only one on the team he fucks.
Which is just fine with you, because you know you're not special, no matter what people tell you. But every time you score, every time he crosses the ball and it finds your feet, you feel special. When he wraps his arms around you, it's like you're the only person in the world. It only lasts a second or two, flitting images as if from a dream. But it's there, you can replay the matches Stephany DVRs for you. Pause, rewind and play again. Over and over until you see it in your dreams.
It's not a dream. Not when you're on your knees in front of him. Your mouth on his cock, his hands in your hair. He twists, pulling you closer and you love everything about him. The way his skin feels against your tongue, the way he tastes when he comes, the jerk of your head when he pulls at your hair. You lift your gaze and he gives you this look, like he could eat you. And you'd do anything for that look. You do anything for that look.
He fucks you in the back of your car. In the back of his. In Minello. In your flat when Stephany's gone. In his house, the locker room after a game, the bathroom of a restaurant you were at with the rest of the team. You cannot get enough of him and you know you're lucky. You also know that this can't last forever. Even if he stays in Milan, snubbing his team in America, you can't hide forever. Not from Victoria, not from Stephany. But you don't think about the future. You think about David's hand on the back of your neck, his cock inside you, the way he arches under you when you thrust.
You live from one training to the next. From the glimpse of him to the taste to the moments when he touches you. Incidental intimacy that could drive you mad if you ever thought about it. But you've perfected the fine art of denial. This is how you can pretend that he loves you, that you are what he looks forward to. When you're around other people, Stephany or your parents or even the rest of your teammates, it's easy to forget. You don't think about him.
But when you're alone, it's all you do.
In bed, with just your hand on your cock, you picture him above you. His hands running along your body. You arch into your hand, coming hard with your eyes squeezed tight. You roll over, sticky with sweat and come, and you dream about Milan in winter, snow on the pitch and David Beckham.