onyxexistance: (Atonement {in love})
[personal profile] onyxexistance
Title: All the Way to the Edge of Desire Part 2
Fandom/Pairing: Real Madrid - Cristiano Ronaldo/Mesut Özil
Rating: R
Author:[livejournal.com profile] onyxexistance  / [livejournal.com profile] openmoments 
Spoilers: None.
Word Count: 5, 395
Summary: It's Mesut's birthday, but he doesn't believe in birthday wishes. Cristiano tries to change his mind. 
Disclaimers: If I owned this team, do you think I would be writing fic?
Prompt: Birthday sex. 
Author's Notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] cagedlight who had a birthday post for Mesut and who wrote birthday!sex fic first and then admitted to crazy shit and writing this with you cheering me on was more than half the fun, chica. Thank you!

First his thumb and then his pointer finger are rid of wax, and Mesut rubs away the residue and Cris tries so hard to not swallow but then he feels a nail scrape and he can’t help himself and then Mesut’s in his space. He’s crowding him and his hands move from picking off wax to resting on his hips and he can feel the corner of the counter digging into his back, but he ignores it because Mesut’s biting his lips, like he’s uncertain that this is alright, so he reassures him, grabbing the loops of his dress pants, pulls him flush up against him, and that’s all it takes.

Mesut leans forward, presses their hips together, smiles as Cris moans, and then surges forwards, presses their mouths together.

His hands move from his hips, travel up his back, over his shoulders, cup his face and Cris smiles into the kiss.

Mesut feels it, backs off, a leery look on his face, “No? You can, you can,” he swallows, and Cris wants to feel his Adam’s apple bobbing, “You can say no,” he finishes and Cris smiles wider.

“No,” he starts and feels Mesut shutting down, pulls him closer, brings him into his space, “No,” he continues, whispering, “This is good,” and is rewarded with a wave of relief, a smile and he slips his hands under his untucked shirt, feels the warmth of his skin, pulls him closer (if it’s possible at this point) and closes the distance.

Mesut bites his bottom lip, brings his hands up to his face, frames it, and Cris opens his mouth, darts his tongue out, feels his teeth on his lip, growls low.

“Room?” he asks and Mesut nods, and they maneuver through the kitchen, still locked together, Cris leaning in to nip at his neck, jaw, earlobe.

The door clicks closed behind them and Mesut’s the one dragging him to the bed, all eager hands and exploring mouth and his fingers are fumbling with his shirt’s buttons, Cris can feel the cool air brushing his skin as they pop open, one at a time.

He props himself up on his elbows, watches as Mesut finishes with the buttons, crawls back up, leans in and kisses him senseless as he pushes his shirt down, off his shoulders and Cris sits up, let’s him tug it off his wrists, and as soon as he’s free, shoves his hands in the long dark hair, licks his way into Mesut’s mouth.

He can feel his hands work their way between their bodies and grins at his eagerness, which quickly turns into a moan as his hand brushes over his hardening cock, feels Mesut smile against his mouth. He hears his belt buckle click open, feels it sliding through his belt loops, hears it drop on the floor. Two fingers from each hand slide under the waist band of his pants and that’s when he flips them over, Mesut flat on his back, a stunned look on his face, and he captures both his wrists in one hand, keeps them above his head.

“I can’t be the only one getting naked,” he murmurs into his ear, nipping at his earlobe, licking a line down the side of his neck, following it to his Adam’s apple, lightly biting it, smiling as he hears the breathing above him get shallower. He straddles his hips, quickly working on the shirt buttons, lays the shirt open when he’s done and let’s his hand make random patterns on the warm skin that lies underneath. His fingers trail gently, nails lightly scraping, and he soaks up the look of the worked muscle, the tapered waste, the smattering of dark hair that disappears into the boxer short band.

Looking up, he sees Mesut’s dilated eyes, smiles and leans forward, captures his lips, and reaches for the undone shirt. Instead of pulling it off of his wrists like Mesut did with him, he ties the two tails of the shirt around the slats in his headboard, securing his wrists above his head.

He looks down and Mesut’s eyes slide shut, pink tongue darting out between his lips, teeth following shortly, bringing his lip into his mouth. When he’s done, he slides back down, hands catching in his hair, tangling, and Mesut’s tongue darts out, this time he catches it with his mouth, follows it back in with his own tongue, licking every part of it he can, feels Mesut’s teeth scraping against it, gets heady off the taste of his mouth.

He moves lower, leaves a hickey on the left side of his neck, presses a kiss, then bites his left bicep, smooths the mark with his tongue.

His fingers slide down his sides, stop at his waist, and then moves back up and his mouth gets to his nipples as his hands do and he pinches one as he lightly nips the other and Mesut’s straining at his bonds, whimpering, and he looks up, but his eyes are closed, head thrown back, and he smiles, switches sides, feels him buck his hips underneath him, erection pressed up against his leg.

Cris slides down, fingers trailing and tongue darting out, teeth nipping, taking extra time on his hips, which buck up to meet his mouth. He sucks slowly on one hip, and then the other, sits back to admire the dark bruises that are slowly surfacing.

“C’mon Cris,” Mesut sighs, frustration evident as he slowly eases his eyes open, “You’re teasi-,” and the sentence is ended in a moan as Cris palms him through his pants, devilish grin lighting up his face.

“I know.” His grin still firmly in place, he undoes his belt buckle and listens as it snickssnickssnicks out of the belt loops, drops it on the ground, and before it’s even hit the floor he’s got the button popped on his dress pants and the zipper down, as it hits, he lifts Mesut’s hips, which move up automatically for him to slide both pants and boxers down, erection jumping to lay up against his stomach, a moan wrenched from his mouth.

He drags it all down, leans to press kisses and small bites down his legs, finds a spot right below the back of his knee, pries his shoes off, and everything ends up on the floor with a thump as he crawls back up, up, up, covers the length of Mesut with his body, and slides his hands up his arms, winding his fingers with the ones bound above his head.

“God you’re fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs as he leans in, first nipping at an earlobe and then trailing his tongue down the side of his neck, jaw, chin, bite softly at his chin, feels Mesut bucking his hips and kisses him filthily.

Mesut’s on the edge and he strains up to meet his mouth, whimpers at the contact of teeth and tongue, and how Cris is biting and licking and jerks in response when his hand comes between the two of them, grasps his cock firmly, but doesn’t give up possession of his mouth.

He pulls away from Cris’s teasing mouth enough to spit out, “Beside table,” and hopes Cris will understand, which is does. He sits up, and jerks open the drawer, digs around until he finds the bottle of lube and sits up on his heels, looking at his work.

His fingers pop the top of the lube bottle and he squeezes it liberally over his fingers and nudges his knees apart, sinks into the space between them, pushes first one foot and then the other flat on the bed, and as Mesut looks at him through blown out pupils, sweat dripping down his face, a hungry look taking over his face.

Cris stops for a moment, runs his free hand up and down his left calf, places a kiss on the top of his knee, asks, “You ready?” and doesn’t let his eyes leave Mesut’s after he nods. He pushes one finger in, pauses, waits for him to adjust, Mesut nods and he moves it in farther, watching Mesut’s face, going slowly, trailing kisses up and down his calf, adds a second one.

The noises he makes do things to him. There’s a feeling low in his stomach and he resists the urge to do this hot and wild and now and instead does this for him. Because the look on his face, as he adds a third finger, moves them in and out, crooks them just so, is worth the wait, worth paying attention, worth noting how Mesut reacts. Fuck, how he reacts is worth this, all of it.

“Cris, please, you,” Mesut manages to push out, the words thick on his tongue and he can’t take it anymore. He wants it, he wants it so much it hurts.

He hears it in his voice, knows not to push it, and finishes the job Mesut started earlier. His pants hit the floor, his boxers landing with a soft woosh on top, and he toes off his socks before he crawls back to the moaning figure on the bed, sweat dripping down his forehead, hair plastered to his neck. He crawls back between his knees, grabs the discarded bottle of lube, spills more into his palm and lets his eyes close as his hand wraps his own cock, hard and leaking from everything that’s led up to this.

Mesut makes a sound of protest and he grins as he slowly opens his eyes, crawls up the rest of the way, and with a quick flick of his hands, undoes the shirt that’s held Mesut’s hands over his head the whole time, pulls the rest of the shirt off and pulls him up onto his lap.

He fists one hand into his hair as the other makes its way between them, and he lines himself up with his stretched out hole, all wet and hot and leaking and slides in and watches the look on his face.
Mesut’s got his hands in his hair, clenching tightly, breathe puffing up against his face, eyes closed, head thrown back, and he leans forward, mouth latching onto his neck as he waits as Mesut adjusts and then rocks him back onto the bed, cock slipping out a bit with the motion and he smiles when he hears the moan sneak out as he pushes it back in.

Legs are wrapping up around his neck, ankles locking together, and he drags his hand over one calf as he rocks back, slowly setting a pace as Mesut’s babbling for him to hurry the fuck up already, he’s been waiting too long.

He can’t get over how beautiful he looks like this, all begging and wanting, stretched open and ready. But he can’t take anymore of the wait and he sets the pace, hand on his calf, head bent down, listening to the sounds coming out of the body beneath him and he pushes, in out, in out, in out and lets out a moan because holy fuck he’s hot and tight and and and...

“Fuck, Cris. Cris. Cris. Fuck ChrisCrisCrisCris,” and his words are running together and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard and he presses forward, earns a cry in reward, sinks his tongue into that babbling mouth and moves an oiled hand between them, feels him gasp as he grabs the throbbing cock between them and strokes him to the same rhythm as he pounds into him.

“I’m going to come, I’m going to,” and Cris has never been one for much talking in bed but this, this is perfect and he wants to hear it more and he speeds up his pace and is rewarded with more, and the look on Mesut’s face when he does come is fucking beautiful and he leans up and kisses him, teeth grabbing his bottom lip as his body arches up, off the bed, his muscles clenching, and Cris can feel the warmth in the pit of his stomach boiling, feels his own muscles tighten and he speeds up even more, springs moaning as he rocks up against Mesut.

He comes with a shallow cry, catches the look on Mesut’s face, buries his head in his shoulder and feels his hands running up and down his back, his mouth on the side of his neck and he smiles into the sweat dampened shoulder.

His breathing evens out and he slides out and off of Mesut, propping himself on one elbow so he can look at him, eyelids sinking down and he runs his free hand over the side of his face, wondering at him.

Mesut turns his head, slightly, kisses the palm of his hand, smiles up at him, leans forward and they kiss, soft and slow and perfect.

“Happy birthday, Mesut,” Cris whispers against his mouth and he can feel him smile, but he pulls away.

Cris frowns and Mesut smiles innocently, “That better not have been my birthday present,” he teases and Cris smiles and knocks their foreheads together, kisses his nose.
“And what if it was?” he asks.

Mesut says nothing for a moment, hand making its way through Cris’s hair, thinking and then he tilts his head, smiling, “Then I guess wishes do come true,” and Cris’s heart expands and he buries his head in Mesut’s neck, smelling the lust and sweat and want there.

They fall asleep and sometime during the night Cris opens his eyes enough to pull up the blanket and Mesut curls into him like he can’t breathe without him and Cris wraps his arms around him because he needs an anchor, even when he’s sleeping and through the slats of the blinds he spies a falling star and closes his eyes, a wish on his lips.


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