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dfotwTitle: Challenges
Summary: It’s Sergio’s first time, and it’s Bojan’s first time at being someone’s first time.
Pairing: Bojan Krkic/Sergio Canales
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: R.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it.
A/N: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drbillbongo on his birthday. The muse wanted to be angsty; I insisted we couldn’t write angst as birthday gift; and then this happened. So... sorry and happy birthday!
It’s Sergio’s first time, and it’s Bojan’s first time at being someone’s first time, and they’re both so nervous that only sheer bravado keeps them in bed.
Never back down from a challenge. Both of them learned that lesson, in playgrounds and classrooms, long before football was a way of life and not just a way to fill sunny afternoons.
What would all those kids that once teased Bojan because he was the smallest of his class, that dared him to do all manner of stupid things to the shrill cry of “¿A que no hay cojones? (You’re a sissy if you don’t!)”, what would they say if they knew Bojan was remembering their words now, as he laid in bed with another boy, both naked and hard and more than a little bit drunk?
But then again it's those kinds of challenges that have led them there, that pushing of boundaries that neither of them knows how to stop, even when it would be to their best advantage. The childish shoving when everyone's horsing around, the taunts about their clubs that aren't as friendly as they seem, the intentional tackles during training... the frustration Bojan feels as he finds himself reacting to the same clumsy flirting that served him so well in his time (but isn't it his time still?).
Bojan sees too much of himself in Sergio, and he doesn't like what he sees. He wants to protect the reflection of himself that he sees in those hazel eyes, and at the same time he wants to take it, bite it, taste it, make it his.
Sergio’s lips glisten under the glare of the night lamp, and Bojan kisses them, licks them, bites them, until he feels that it's Sergio and only Sergio that he's reaching for, until he fancies he can't taste the expensive scotch that they drank straight from the bottle, trying not to grimace at the taste, tainting their kisses anymore. (the same bottle that Thierry brought him one day after Bojan had complained that he never got ‘grown-up’ gifts.)
The memory of Tití, and of his own first time, makes Bojan bold, pushes him forwards until he’s pressing Sergio into the mattress with all his weight, settled between his spread legs, rocking his hips just enough to force Sergio to make those gasping little sighs that Bojan tries to capture with kisses that grow more and more frantic.
“Para, para, para, joder, no pares, (Stop, stop, stop, fuck, don’t stop,)” Sergio chants between gasps, his fingers scrabbling for purchase over Bojan’s sweating back, leaving long red marks that will be impossible to conceal in the morning.
“¿Seguro? (Sure?)” asks Bojan, not reassuring in the slightest, his tone of voice perfectly pitched to leave Sergio no option but to say yes, or do the unthinkable and lose face.
“¡Sí! (Yes!)” Sergio says between gritted teeth, as expected.
The mechanics of what he is about to do are familiar to Bojan, albeit more on himself than on others, but tonight everything seems different: the fumbling with the lid of the bottle of lube, the teasing, the stretching...
“Ya, (Now,)” gasps Sergio, and it isn’t any different to what he has gasped over ten times already, but this time Bojan obeys, entering him in one long push.
Sergio’s face looks so young, so oddly vulnerable with his eyes tightly shut and his ever-present smile absent, that Bojan feels a twinge of guilt in amongst the roaring of arousal, and then a sharp stab of anger that he, too, looked once like this, that his eyes once, too, opened in wonder and his lips, too, parted to whisper, “¡Más! (More!)”.
“¿Más? (More?)” Bojan snarls, rather unnecessarily as his hips are already setting a frantic rhythm and Sergio seems to have lost the ability to speak in favour of throwing his head back and making the most incredible soft little noises of want.
It’s fast and it’s dirty and it’s so damn good Bojan wishes he could die at the end of it.
Then he comes back to his senses; his lungs are burning, his legs are shaking, and Sergio is staring at him with awed satisfaction, his tousled head leaning anyhow on a crumpled pillow that looks as if it just survived a tornado.
Sergio opens his mouth to speak, and Bojan tenses, afraid of the words that will break the spell and make everything horribly awkward once again. But Sergio reads his mind, or perhaps realises he has nothing to say, because instead he leans and kisses Bojan with bruised lips that will remember this night forever. Just a brush of lips (of lips on which not a trace of scotch remains, not even a memory) and then he leans back on his pillow, sighs contentedly and closes his eyes.
And when he falls sleep with an arm slung around Bojan's shoulders, Bojan takes a deep breath and allows himself to fall asleep too, all thoughts of challenges now forgotten.
The End...
Hope you liked it, feedback is welcomed, adored, and fed expensive chocolate!
Summary: It’s Sergio’s first time, and it’s Bojan’s first time at being someone’s first time.
Pairing: Bojan Krkic/Sergio Canales
Warnings: Slash.
Rating: R.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it.
A/N: for
drbillbongo on his birthday. The muse wanted to be angsty; I insisted we couldn’t write angst as birthday gift; and then this happened. So... sorry and happy birthday!It’s Sergio’s first time, and it’s Bojan’s first time at being someone’s first time, and they’re both so nervous that only sheer bravado keeps them in bed.
Never back down from a challenge. Both of them learned that lesson, in playgrounds and classrooms, long before football was a way of life and not just a way to fill sunny afternoons.
What would all those kids that once teased Bojan because he was the smallest of his class, that dared him to do all manner of stupid things to the shrill cry of “¿A que no hay cojones? (You’re a sissy if you don’t!)”, what would they say if they knew Bojan was remembering their words now, as he laid in bed with another boy, both naked and hard and more than a little bit drunk?
But then again it's those kinds of challenges that have led them there, that pushing of boundaries that neither of them knows how to stop, even when it would be to their best advantage. The childish shoving when everyone's horsing around, the taunts about their clubs that aren't as friendly as they seem, the intentional tackles during training... the frustration Bojan feels as he finds himself reacting to the same clumsy flirting that served him so well in his time (but isn't it his time still?).
Bojan sees too much of himself in Sergio, and he doesn't like what he sees. He wants to protect the reflection of himself that he sees in those hazel eyes, and at the same time he wants to take it, bite it, taste it, make it his.
Sergio’s lips glisten under the glare of the night lamp, and Bojan kisses them, licks them, bites them, until he feels that it's Sergio and only Sergio that he's reaching for, until he fancies he can't taste the expensive scotch that they drank straight from the bottle, trying not to grimace at the taste, tainting their kisses anymore. (the same bottle that Thierry brought him one day after Bojan had complained that he never got ‘grown-up’ gifts.)
The memory of Tití, and of his own first time, makes Bojan bold, pushes him forwards until he’s pressing Sergio into the mattress with all his weight, settled between his spread legs, rocking his hips just enough to force Sergio to make those gasping little sighs that Bojan tries to capture with kisses that grow more and more frantic.
“Para, para, para, joder, no pares, (Stop, stop, stop, fuck, don’t stop,)” Sergio chants between gasps, his fingers scrabbling for purchase over Bojan’s sweating back, leaving long red marks that will be impossible to conceal in the morning.
“¿Seguro? (Sure?)” asks Bojan, not reassuring in the slightest, his tone of voice perfectly pitched to leave Sergio no option but to say yes, or do the unthinkable and lose face.
“¡Sí! (Yes!)” Sergio says between gritted teeth, as expected.
The mechanics of what he is about to do are familiar to Bojan, albeit more on himself than on others, but tonight everything seems different: the fumbling with the lid of the bottle of lube, the teasing, the stretching...
“Ya, (Now,)” gasps Sergio, and it isn’t any different to what he has gasped over ten times already, but this time Bojan obeys, entering him in one long push.
Sergio’s face looks so young, so oddly vulnerable with his eyes tightly shut and his ever-present smile absent, that Bojan feels a twinge of guilt in amongst the roaring of arousal, and then a sharp stab of anger that he, too, looked once like this, that his eyes once, too, opened in wonder and his lips, too, parted to whisper, “¡Más! (More!)”.
“¿Más? (More?)” Bojan snarls, rather unnecessarily as his hips are already setting a frantic rhythm and Sergio seems to have lost the ability to speak in favour of throwing his head back and making the most incredible soft little noises of want.
It’s fast and it’s dirty and it’s so damn good Bojan wishes he could die at the end of it.
Then he comes back to his senses; his lungs are burning, his legs are shaking, and Sergio is staring at him with awed satisfaction, his tousled head leaning anyhow on a crumpled pillow that looks as if it just survived a tornado.
Sergio opens his mouth to speak, and Bojan tenses, afraid of the words that will break the spell and make everything horribly awkward once again. But Sergio reads his mind, or perhaps realises he has nothing to say, because instead he leans and kisses Bojan with bruised lips that will remember this night forever. Just a brush of lips (of lips on which not a trace of scotch remains, not even a memory) and then he leans back on his pillow, sighs contentedly and closes his eyes.
And when he falls sleep with an arm slung around Bojan's shoulders, Bojan takes a deep breath and allows himself to fall asleep too, all thoughts of challenges now forgotten.
The End...
Hope you liked it, feedback is welcomed, adored, and fed expensive chocolate!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-04 10:40 pm (UTC)I adore you. I adore this fic, this pairing, and every single detail you put into it. Really.
*kisses your hand*
¡Gracias!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 10:35 am (UTC)*hugs*
¡De nada!
;)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 11:23 am (UTC):)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-05 01:15 pm (UTC)i love the pairing, it's my favourite pairing. and i loved this story! it was awesomely written and the translated spanish dialogues are great. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 11:24 am (UTC):)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 11:24 am (UTC):)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 09:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 09:44 pm (UTC)And hey, writing angst is perfectly acceptable as long as there's some fluff at the end. XD
no subject
Date: 2011-02-08 08:59 am (UTC)I am so sorry I couldn't write you a proper fluffy fic with lots of development and UST and will-they-won't-they, but last week was terrible for me and LJ only told me about your b-day two days in advance! Next year I will plan things better, I promise.
I'm glad you liked it, even though it's so different from my usual stuff. I think 'my' Bojan is turning darker in my head as he turns older and things continue to not go his way, and that's going to be interesting to handle if I want to keep on writing him...
(and don't worry about not commenting before, ficlets don't spoil! And I'm glad you had a great weekend with lots of RL things! :D)
Hope you had a great birthday!
*glomps*