Fic: Gianluigi Buffon/Iker Casillas, R
Title: Thing/Not
Pairing: Gianluigi Buffon/Iker Casillas
Rating: R
Warnings: no
Word Count: 477
Disclaimer: Don’t take it for anything other than it is. Pure fiction.
Summary: It wasn’t really a thing, what they had between them. Just something that kept happening.
It’s not really a thing - it’s just something they did at international tournaments.
Or something like that.
Anyway, it’s not a thing, even though it’s been going on for years. Even though Iker sometimes found himself thinking about it mid-season, for no good reason whatsoever.
Still - it’s not so much a thing as a necessity. That’s how Iker liked to think of it - as an inevitability which he came to accept.
Though really, if he was honest with himself, there was nothing inevitable about their meetings. It’s not like they were teammates, or strangers exchanging quick handjobs at some dark corner of a club. No, that wasn’t like that at all. What they had was calculated; it had to be planned - carefully, meticulously planned. It was anything but inevitable.
But Iker couldn’t imagine how could they possibly avoid it, when it felt like it was simply a necessity.
Even though he told himself from time to time that the next time he met him, he just wouldn’t. Wouldn’t show up, or wouldn’t cooperate. Wouldn’t answer his mails or texts - always so innocent, like they really were just acquaintances. Just a hint, enough to make Iker figure out where and when to show up.
And he always did - no matter how many times he promised himself that this time, he simply wouldn’t..
But always, always, sometime towards the middle of the tournament, it all became too much. It was if he could almost feel Buffon’s hand on him, pinching his nipples or firmly stroking his cock. It was as if he was there, pushing him against the wall, pinning him with his weight and breathing heavily against his neck.
At some point, it was always inevitable. And then there was always a text, or a mail, and Iker always showed up. Always a little uncertain, a little doubtful.
But always ready and willing by the time Buffon got there and wordlessly pulled him into a kiss.
Sometimes he had to wait for a while, and that was pure torture. He’d try to think of other things - anything other than Buffon and what they were about to do - but he would never manage to think of anything but the way Buffon made him feel.
And more often then not, by the time Buffon got there, Iker was already hard and panting, trying to fight the temptation to touch himself - just a little bit - before Buffon got there. And he would always look at Iker and give him that half-smirk-half-smile that made Iker resent his easy confidence and make him wonder again, for the briefest of seconds, whether he wanted to be there at all.
But then he would kiss him, and Iker would forget about his doubts.
At least for the night. Tomorrow, he can tell himself again it was just inevitable, and not a thing at all.