Like many good things, the first time had been a complete accident.
They had been in a hurry, clothes strewn everywhere, fucking in another anonymous hotel room. Roger's back had been acting up again lately, so he was lying flat with Rafa riding him, going fast and hard, slippery with sweat and out of breath and so good - Rafa had just needed something to hold onto, to ground him.
He actually had been trying for the headboard when he pitched forwards, grabbing for purchase, but he had underestimated the distance and ended up nearly falling on his face - well, smashing his face in Roger's chest, really - but Roger's arms had come up automatically, trying to keep Rafa upright and failing to take the sudden weight, but it had been enough for Rafa to regain some kind of balance with his hands pressing Roger's arms down into the mattress over his head. They had laughed a little awkwardly, both a bit annoyed at the hold up but too far gone to not just hurry and get on with it.
Somehow, Rafa had kept that hold on Roger's arms, pressing down heavily, hands digging into the wiry forearms, hard enough so he wouldn't slide on the sweaty skin, being absently grateful for the dark hair that would hopefully help to hide the surely forming bruises.
Roger had gotten loud. The man was normally always so controlled, almost reserved, even in bed - Rafa had come to think of it as just Roger, this muffled passion, harsh breath and low sounds, careful movements even during the heights of lust - he would bet his shiny new car that Roger wouldn't have missed the headboard if it had been him in that position. But now, all of a sudden, the Swiss had been moaning, trashing a little, looking almost helplessly aroused. Rafa had gripped his arms even harder, and Roger had positively mewled. That day, Rafa had come as hard as never before.
Afterwards, while they had been dressing, still in a hurry, always in a hurry to go, get back to their functions, their images, their teams, Rafa had said: "You like it, no?"
"What, sex with you?" Roger had sounded a bit incredulous. "Yeah, sure, you know I do." But he hadn't looked up from tying his spotless brown leather shoes.
"No, the holding - me holding you. “ Rafa had insisted, sliding easily into his sneakers, still staring at Roger's bowed head.
"Uhm, yeah, sure." but there had been a pause. Roger's cheeks had been flushed, which, sure, could have been from all that exertion, but, well... Roger had gotten up and taken Rafa into his arms. "I always like you holding me, just how I like holding you." He had smiled at Rafa and kissed his forehead tenderly, which was a bit unusual.
"Is not what I meant!", Rafa protested. Roger had tucked Rafa's wild hair behind his ear with a featherlike gentle touch. He usually didn’t show quite as much tenderness, either. It hadn't felt right to Rafa. "I'm not a woman!", he had protested. Roger had laughed. "No, you're really not."
"Roger, you like it, just say so. You no girl either, is okay to like it... how you say... hard? rough?"
Again, Roger had just smiled, but his blush had still been there, and he had been continuously tugging at the hair falling around his temples. "Yeah, you know, I don't really. I like you, that's all." And Roger had slipped into the suit jacket he had left carefully hanging over the back of a chair and grabbed his cell phone quickly off the bedside table, switching it on and listening to the beep of missed messages even as he was walking towards the door. "Gotta go, my people are looking for me. Later, Rafa, good luck for your game!", and he was gone.
It had seemed like he was fleeing out of the room to Rafa. He was left feeling rather annoyed at Roger - and also very, very curious.
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Slip of the hand
Date: 2009-07-19 02:26 am (UTC)They had been in a hurry, clothes strewn everywhere, fucking in another anonymous hotel room. Roger's back had been acting up again lately, so he was lying flat with Rafa riding him, going fast and hard, slippery with sweat and out of breath and so good - Rafa had just needed something to hold onto, to ground him.
He actually had been trying for the headboard when he pitched forwards, grabbing for purchase, but he had underestimated the distance and ended up nearly falling on his face - well, smashing his face in Roger's chest, really - but Roger's arms had come up automatically, trying to keep Rafa upright and failing to take the sudden weight, but it had been enough for Rafa to regain some kind of balance with his hands pressing Roger's arms down into the mattress over his head. They had laughed a little awkwardly, both a bit annoyed at the hold up but too far gone to not just hurry and get on with it.
Somehow, Rafa had kept that hold on Roger's arms, pressing down heavily, hands digging into the wiry forearms, hard enough so he wouldn't slide on the sweaty skin, being absently grateful for the dark hair that would hopefully help to hide the surely forming bruises.
Roger had gotten loud. The man was normally always so controlled, almost reserved, even in bed - Rafa had come to think of it as just Roger, this muffled passion, harsh breath and low sounds, careful movements even during the heights of lust - he would bet his shiny new car that Roger wouldn't have missed the headboard if it had been him in that position. But now, all of a sudden, the Swiss had been moaning, trashing a little, looking almost helplessly aroused. Rafa had gripped his arms even harder, and Roger had positively mewled. That day, Rafa had come as hard as never before.
Afterwards, while they had been dressing, still in a hurry, always in a hurry to go, get back to their functions, their images, their teams, Rafa had said: "You like it, no?"
"What, sex with you?" Roger had sounded a bit incredulous. "Yeah, sure, you know I do." But he hadn't looked up from tying his spotless brown leather shoes.
"No, the holding - me holding you. “ Rafa had insisted, sliding easily into his sneakers, still staring at Roger's bowed head.
"Uhm, yeah, sure." but there had been a pause. Roger's cheeks had been flushed, which, sure, could have been from all that exertion, but, well... Roger had gotten up and taken Rafa into his arms. "I always like you holding me, just how I like holding you." He had smiled at Rafa and kissed his forehead tenderly, which was a bit unusual.
"Is not what I meant!", Rafa protested. Roger had tucked Rafa's wild hair behind his ear with a featherlike gentle touch. He usually didn’t show quite as much tenderness, either. It hadn't felt right to Rafa. "I'm not a woman!", he had protested. Roger had laughed. "No, you're really not."
"Roger, you like it, just say so. You no girl either, is okay to like it... how you say... hard? rough?"
Again, Roger had just smiled, but his blush had still been there, and he had been continuously tugging at the hair falling around his temples. "Yeah, you know, I don't really. I like you, that's all." And Roger had slipped into the suit jacket he had left carefully hanging over the back of a chair and grabbed his cell phone quickly off the bedside table, switching it on and listening to the beep of missed messages even as he was walking towards the door. "Gotta go, my people are looking for me. Later, Rafa, good luck for your game!", and he was gone.
It had seemed like he was fleeing out of the room to Rafa. He was left feeling rather annoyed at Roger - and also very, very curious.
(TBC?)