Possible fanfic: Part One (tl;dr alert)

Author’s note: A recent obsession with La Furia Roja. Thank you for liking it.

It was an early Monday morning when Marcus informed me of the project the agency wanted me to complete. The Spanish team La Furia Roja had won the 2010 FIFA World cup and it was my job to document their emotions after winning into a portrait for a photo book and exhibition in Spain. I hung up the phone and turned on my computer. It was time to research the players individually and get a sense of who they were. Iker seemed reserved but dominant. Ramos was a mystery I would love to know better. Torres made me smile with his numerous facial expressions but his smile captured my heart. Pique made my heart skip a beat while Fabregas seemed to be the baby of the team. Each player was unique and different. Together they were a family that seemed unstoppable.

***

Two days later I sat down with each player and a translator to schedule portrait times and concepts. My Spanish wasn’t perfect but I was able to maintain a conversation with each player quite comfortably. I made the interview completely informal. Pique took advantage of this and even tickled me when I pretended his joke about elephants crossing the road wasn’t funny. I was captivated by Torres. The sincerity in his voice and his gaze fixated on me made me a little too warm for my liking.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked him in Spanish at one point. 

“You look very much like someone I know,” he responded without hesitation

“Who? A relative?” I ask

He chuckles lightly, bows his head down and shakes his head. “No. A girl who stole my heart.”

“I look nothing like Olalla,” I laugh. “She has features I clearly don’t. I’m a beast and she is a beauty.” I joke.

He looks up sternly without smiling. “I beg to differ.”

The translator coughs behind me and I move on to schedule a time for his portrait. Unlike the other players, he has opted for a personal shot. Something minimal and without the need for props or extra models. I schedule him for a Sunday at my studio in Madrid. I wouldn’t need assistants and it would be something quick and accomplished easily.

***

Two weeks later I drag myself out of my bed on the second floor of my studio. A make shift bed out of a boat stuffed with comfort mattress foam, white sheets, white duvet, supported on racks allowing it to hover over the wooden floorboards and rock gently if I moved hard enough. With bed hair I walk downstairs bare feet in a thin white shirt and floral pink underwear. The large windows on the ground level display dim clouds and lightening glows in the distance. I think to myself how badly I need sunlight for Torres’ portrait today. I need that sunlight! What was I going to do? I decide to think about it over breakfast. I sigh at the sight of an empty nutella jar and opt for strawberry toaster strudel and hot chocolate. Coffee had never been my favourite. I flick through channels and finally settle on a re-run of the O.C. Navas’ glare at me from a portrait hanging on the string drawn across the living room made me stare at the photograph of him half immersed in water. He is indeed beautiful, I thought to myself. Too bad he had his parents with him. It was hard to make a dirty joke and get the grin I was looking for. Halfway through my breakfast the doorbell rang. I groaned at the thought of Mrs. Marcus from the penthouse above me wanting to ask if I had seen her cat Alberto. I wanted to yell over the TV and say “Alberto is not here!” but she would find it rude. So I walked over to the door and opened without peeking into the peep hole.

“Hi.” Torres smiled at the sight of me. His shirt was wet and water dripped from his hair.

I stood there stunned and then decided to play it cool like a professional. “Hi. You’re early. About five hours early.” I laugh to lessen my emphasis on 5 hours.

“I’m sorry,” Torres responded quickly. “I could leave and come back,” he said while he gestured his arm towards the end of the hall. The fabric of his wet white shirt tightened around his arm and I noticed his tattoos. His abs were visible from the wetness of his shirt. Tight clad in wet thin white fabric and I almost stuttered.

“D-D-Don’t be silly,” I responded in Spanish. I stepped aside and gestured in. “Come in.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

I shut the door behind him and noticed the trail of wetness. It had been pouring out and I had barely noticed in the past 30 minutes I had been awake.

“I’m sorry about the floor,” he said when he noticed my reaction to the trail.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I giggle. “You’re going to catch a cold. You should go to the bathroom upstairs and change into something dry.”

He gives me a blank stare before I realize. “Oh, this way.” I lead him up the circular narrow stairs and walk towards my makeshift room and show him the bathroom. I pull out a brand new white undershirt and athletic shorts from packaging that I had bought a long time ago to use as props.

“These are a large. Would they fit?” I ask.

His smirk confirms they will so I pretend to walk away until he shuts the bathroom door. I run back to the dresser and stare at my reflection. Good God I looked like I had escaped a mental institution! My hair had taken on a shape yet to be discovered and it was more than obvious that I had not been awake for long. I grab a brush and comb through my hair. I brush my bangs neatly and I search quickly for pants but remember that I had reserved today for laundry. So stupid! I muttered to myself while I scurry around looking. A mini skirt hung out of my suitcase so I grabbed that and put it on. It was better than my panties that barely covered my butt cheeks and most of my clothes were dirty from shooting in rather dusty areas over the week. I skip every other step as I run down the stairs. I need to figure out where all my gear was. I needed to set up a lighting kit. Things had to happen! They had to happen now!

“Nice bed,” Torres startles me.

“Pardon?” I ask to compose myself. His hair is now towel dried and resembles my bed head earlier. But the smile on his face makes my heart beat faster.

“Your bed. It’s like a boat, no? And you have white sheets and white drapes from the ceiling. It’s very unique and feminine. I like that.”

“Oh, thank you.” I bow my head slightly allowing my bangs to shield my smile. Is it just me or is it getting warmer? Compose yourself! I look up and stare back at him. “Your clothes are all wet so I should put them in the dryer. We need them for you shoot.”

He nods. Smile vanishes.

After I put his clothes in the dryer and his blazer on a hanger to air dry, he suggests we watch the O.C which he loves. I smile at the memory of an interview I read online saying he watched more shows than movies and this sounded fine by me. After all, we had 5 hours to kill and sunlight to wait for. Sunlight I prayed was coming, but by the looks of it the storm was getting worse.

I laughed at a comment on the O.C. before commercials came on.

“You even laugh the same,” Torres blurted out and smiled

“I what?”

“You laugh the same as the girl you remind me of.”

I instantly remember the interview with him two weeks ago. “Oh, well who is she?”

“The girl who stole my heart.”

“Olalla?”

He shakes his head and his smile dies down. “No, someone else.”

“There’s someone else?” I say playfully with wide eyes.

He laughs, “Not like that. I mean Olalla wasn’t the only girl in my life you know. There were others too.”

“Well I guess that’s true,” I say insightfully and lean back to the other end of the couch so my feet rest close to his thighs.

“You have small feet too. Are you-”

I burst out laughing. “Ticklish?” I ask. “You bet I am. So stop doing that!” I rescue my feet and hug them tightly. He smiles sheepishly.

The silence becomes comfortable. Almost like we’ve been long term friends. Soon I’m leaning in towards him and he leans towards me. He surprises me with his ability to make pancakes and waffles. But of course he was only good at pre-heating the packaged ones. Two hours had gone by and the storm had not cleared out. It was raining even harder now. I took some test shots of him by the large windows. I teased his freckles and named one Pablo. I would ask if Pablo wanted syrup with that pancake and Torres would burst into the cutest chuckle.

Putting the dishes away Torres stands behind me placing plates into the sink from over my head. Show off, I thought to myself. He was tall but so much taller in person. As I placed the plates and cups in to soak I noticed his hands placed on the sink trapping me between the sink and him. There was no way I could budge if I wanted to.

“This skirt,” Torres whispered seriously. “Is it meant to tempt me or what?”

I was slightly startled by the question but mostly turned on by the softness and seriousness of his voice. “I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His left hand moves from the sink down to my groin and cups me. He rubs gently and I fight back a moan while breathing deeply. He lowers his head to my ear and whispers, “I want to take you. Ever since the interview it’s all I’ve thought about. And while you walked me up those stairs your pink underwear was begging to come off. Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).” The last sentence pours out slowly from his lips.

I grip the sink tightly and bite my lower lip as he pushed my panty to the side and slips a finger in. He slides his finger back and forth and my knees wobble. He grips my waist with his right hand so that I lean into him. I can feel how hard he is. His cock is firm and bulges along the cusp of my butt. His hand moves from my waist and cups my breast underneath my shirt. He rubs my nipple with his thumb. “You didn’t think I missed your nipples did you? I could see them shyly poking through,” he whispers.

Suddenly I remember that I had forgot to put on a bra. Biting my lower lip I try to arch my back but have no room to do so.

“What I would give to fuck you in an open stadium right now. I would let everyone watch as you utter the sweetest sounds I have ever heard from a woman.”

I gasp loudly as he puts in two fingers. He moves his fingers faster and picks up the pace. I let out soft moans and my breathing hardens. Then he stops. Almost dramatically he pulls away. I grip the sink from giving into my weak knees and turn to face him slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.  I’m sorry. I should leave.”

I let out a firm but desperate, “No” as I let myself onto the floor slowly. I can barely move. I was so close and now he has left me vulnerable and shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asks with sincere concern

I lower my head and let me bangs hide me.

He lowers himself to the kitchen floor. “Will you look at me at least?”

I raise my head up with tears welling up in my eyes. “Is this what you wanted?” I ask.

He shakes his head and hides his face behind his palms. Slowly his palms turn into fists and he stares me in the eye. “I can’t hold back anymore. Quiero hacerte el amor (I want to make love to you). Me muero de ganas (I am dying from desire). If I touch you now-,” he pauses. “If I touch you now I might keep thrusting in you till nightfall. And after that I’ll want to do it all over again.”

I bite my lower lip and fight back the tears. I just want him to hold me.

“You have to say it though,” he pushes my bangs away from my face. “Say you want me. Or I can’t do this.”

I look up and slowly utter, “Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).” The words were barely said and with that he picked me up swiftly from the floor and placed me on the kitchen counter. I had barely recovered before he ripped the white cotton shirt off me. I had no need to put my hands over my head. His soft lips latch onto an erect nipple while his thumb fiddles the other. I run my fingers through his hair and arch my body closer towards his. Frantically I force him to raise his arms and stop sucking so I can peel off his shirt. He returns to licking and sucking on my nipple again driving me into slight oblivion. He lets out a slight grunt as I move my hands down his hard abs towards the strings of his shorts. I hear his breathing quicken. He raises his head and looks up at me. Then he plants one on my lips. A deep, long passionate tongue twirling kiss. The taste of syrup from our pancakes linger and we can taste some strawberry from the strudel I had earlier. I can barely breathe when he pulls away. His breathing remains rough while he stares at me. “This counter, it’s too high.” And without a response from me, he picks me up from the counter. “I want to watch you moan in your bed while you try to stifle the sounds I’ll get out of you.” I smile shyly and he carries me up the stairs while the re-runs of the O.C. continue to play loudly on Channel 10.

I let out a gasp as Torres plants kisses from my forehead down. He kisses the bridge of nose, then my lips, then my neck, then my clavicles and further on. He lingers around my belly button before moving down further and plunging his wet tongue inside me. I gasp, grip my sheets and lick my lips in response. His next tongue plunge going deeper than the last.

“You. Taste. So. Sweet,” he utters between licks. “Do you want me inside you? Tell me how much you want me to fuck you”

I let out a small gasp and move my hips towards his freckled face. He grips my hips firmly, holding me in place. Torres clearly is not shy in bed I think to myself. He is dominant and he wants me to wait. His touch was intoxicating. I wanted to savour every moment, every kiss, every look, every sigh. I wanted to just breathe it all in and never let it out. “I need you inside of me. I need to feel you. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard. I’m all yours Torre-,” he interrupts me with a firm kiss on my lips. Plunging his tongue into my mouth I slip back into utter oblivion.

As Torres hovers over me and gets into position I place my hand on his chest and pout. “But I want your cock in my mouth” I complain shyly.

He looks down at his hard cock which he has placed in front of my wet dripping pussy and back at me with a familiar smirk. “I won’t last if you put this in your mouth. God knows I can barely hold on right now.” And with those words Torres shoves his hard cock inside of me sinking all the way in. “Se siente rico (that feels so good),” he groans. “And you are so tight.” The hard thrust takes my breath away and he does not give me much time to get used to the rhythm and starts to pound me softly yet violently after each pull back of his hard cock. He fucks me hard and almost violently as the thrusts go deeper and deeper. It hurts but it feels so good. I just want all of him and his freckled cock. Harder and deeper he pushes into me forcing my legs to part more so he can get deeper inside of me. I wrap my legs around him and with each thrust he lets out a low grunt, my moans get louder, our breathing harder and our pulses quicken. I can feel an orgasm in me starting. Almost instinctively Torres looks me in the eye as he fucks me. I love the way his eyes search me and how this seems so familiar. Like this wasn’t our first time. And who knows, perhaps in another life we had been lovers. I dig my nails deep into his freckled back and arch my back. Torres grips the back of my hair and sucks on my neck with every thrust. My body starts to quiver as the boat bed swings slowly and I feel his cock wrapped in my juices slipping in easier and easier. And I’m there. I feel that feeling wash over me. I scream out his name over and over as my body is being wracked with the most intense orgasm. I cum over and over, my juices flowing all over his hard cock. I’m in that place that I’ve always been scared to go to. My orgasm doesn’t stop, it keeps going. I feel him shove his cock in deeper and then he cums hard shooting deep inside of me. He lets out a loud grunt as his cum fills me.  

My orgasm seems to go on forever. My body is shaking and I’m covered in his sweat and mine. My hair and his both plastered to our faces with sweat. I keep mouthing his name and letting out low gasps. I want so badly to grab his hips but Torres holds my hands above my head firmly with one hand. I’m fighting to free my hands but Torres is incredibly strong. Something that didn’t surprise me yet for orgasmic reasons I tried to fight anyway. The familiar smirk shows on his face as he watches me orgasm and I know my wrists will have bruises on them but I don’t care. Torres teases me some more by thrusting slowly and it almost drives me to tears. My body on the inside in utter chaos and yet he watches me orgasm over and over until the quivers lessen. He lets go of my hands and lowers himself beside me. We are soaking with sweat and breathing hard. He plants a soft kiss on my lips and pulls me closer to him. As my eyelids give into sleep I stare at the tattoo of his wife’s name on his arm wrapped around me. This is wrong, I think to myself. Yet here we were.