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Sebas is used to flying under the radar, and today on the field is no exception. They’ve paired off to run drills, and so no one’s paying him any particular mind unless Javier’s observing their side of the field. Javier, who’s too busy watching Roque like a hawk to notice what any of the other guys have been doing.
Sebas had taken Javier aside before practice and asked him to go easy on Roque. It’s risky, showing his hand like that, but just because Roque can throw a ball again doesn’t mean his hand isn’t still broken.
He doesn’t know what Olympo did to Roque while he was gone. He’s glad Roque’s not in pain anymore, but Sebas had seen how bad his wrist was. That kind of thing doesn’t heal just like that, no matter how many times Sebas endeavored to kiss him all better last night.
Luckily, Javier didn’t blink when Sebas asked. He only slapped a warm palm on Sebas’s shoulder, nodded and said, “Proud of you, boy. I know how much you care about this team.”
Sebas felt his face burn to hear it. It’s not untrue, but his caring for Roque has nothing to do with the team at all and everything to do with Sebas being selfish and wanting things that shouldn’t be his.
Wanting things that shouldn’t be his and yet—might. Be. His.
It’s still so hard to believe that his chest starts to ache at the thought. At the memory of just that morning. For a moment, Sebas is back under the bed sheets with Roque. Cristian teases them both as he leaves, and everything feels warm and light in a way Sebas has never experienced before. He’s never had a friend like Cristian before. He’s never had a lover like Roque.
Sebas can’t seem to stop smiling, even when Roque puts a hand around his nape and leans in to kiss him. Especially not then. He could stay in this memory forever, just smiling and kissing Roque good morning. He—
“Oof!”
Sebas is on the ground suddenly. The grass is damp and cold. The wind’s been knocked out of him as he stares up at a cloudless blue sky.
“Hey.” His partner holds out a hand in his face. “Shit, sorry about that. Nothing personal, just thought you were ready.”
This fucking guy.
Sebas lets Diego pull him back up, shaking his head all the while.
“Sorry,” Diego says again, still cringing.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Sebas is quick to reply. He even sounds like he means it. He’s gotten good at the whole fake it till you make it thing here. He kind of wants to throttle Diego, but what else is new? He’s been wanting to do that ever since Diego punched Roque for posting that photo of them together.
Ever since the photo itself, actually.
There’s a shout down the field, but it’s an elated one. They both turn, and Cristian is clapping, Javier looking begrudgingly pleased. Roque is crouched over someone, offering his injured hand. Charlie doesn’t take it. He gets to his feet with a scowl.
Roque straightens, unaffected, the muscles in his thighs on full display. Sebas takes a moment to appreciate the view before turning back to Diego. Diego, to Sebas’s irritation, is doing the same, gaze lingering on Roque a split second longer than he has any right to as far as Sebas is concerned.
Sebas is not above being motivated by things like jealousy, spite and a good old-fashioned competitive streak. He’s not going to fumble Roque like Diego did. He's come too close one too many times already.
Sebas grins and slaps Diego on the back as he shoulders past him.
He faces Diego with laser-like focus this time. It doesn’t matter that no one will see, or that Diego has no idea Sebas is the one who gets to fall asleep in Roque’s arms every night. Sebas is going to take him down, and he’s going to enjoy every minute of it.
The frustrated grunt Diego lets out every time Sebas tackles him to the ground is very, very satisfying.
“Damn. Sorry,” Sebas says. He helps Diego back up, who’s massaging his rib cage and wincing a little. “Nothing personal, man.”
Roque smells like salt and sweat. Sebas kind of wants to lean in and lick him, right on his pulse point. It’s a sensitive spot for Roque, he’s learned.
The corridor outside Roque’s room is empty right now, save for the two of them. Sebas could do it. Roque’s neck is right there.
“How was practice for you?” he asks instead, feeling pleased by his restraint. “How’s your hand doing?”
“Hm?” Roque’s distracted. He doesn’t appear to be listening, glancing down the hallway instead.
“No one’s there,” Sebas says.
“No,” says Roque, and there’s something in his tone that feels dangerously warm, suddenly. Sebas stands there, transfixed, as Roque turns his gaze back to his. “I know.”
Roque slowly backs him into the door, palms moving down to grip Sebas’s thighs.
Sebas swallows. “Roque,” he says. It sounds much less like the warning he’d intended than a plea.
In one fluid movement, Roque lifts Sebas against him. Sebas does not consider himself to be a small person by any means—average height, maybe on the leaner side compared to someone like Roque but who isn’t? Roque’s body is not of this world. And being held like this by him makes Sebas feel small in the way that small things are safe and cherished and cared for, which is a hell of a lot to feel on a random weekday afternoon.
Roque tightens his hold on him. “My hand is fine now, by the way.”
Sebas nods like agreeing with him will get Roque to put him down faster, now that he’s proved his point. “Right. Sure, yeah.” He should get down. He wraps his arms around Roque’s shoulders, thighs gripping at his waist.
He looks around to make sure they haven’t been seen. The hall is still empty, but they’re never truly alone in this place. He can hear people talking. People who could be coming around the corner any moment.
Roque leans in as he’s craning around, and then he’s nuzzling a kiss to his neck. If Sebas had been standing, he’s certain his knees would have given out under him.
He finds himself trying to get even closer, clutching at Roque like a koala clinging on to a tree. His heart beats out a precarious rhythm. He needs Roque to put him down. They could be seen. His nose bumps up against the ridge between Roque’s brows and it’s a perfect fit. They could be seen. He’s never wanted to kiss Roque this badly. They could be seen, they could be seen, they could be seen.
He presses his face into Roque’s neck and breathes in. God. He licks a broad stripe up to his jawline. If this doesn’t get Roque to drop him—
The door gives way against his back. Roque is moving, grip firm as ever, and then there’s a click and Sebas is pressed to the other side of the door, facing the inside of Roque’s bedroom. It’s just the two of them now, and the relief he feels is instantaneous. Sebas bends over him, kissing Roque until they’re both breathless and it feels like his chest might be burning.
Roque tilts his head back to look at him. He lifts a finger to Sebas’s hair, sweeping it gently off of his forehead. Sebas is still sweaty from practice too. He has a sudden, wild longing for them to go shower together. To wash the day off each other’s bodies. To—
“I saw you,” says Roque.
Sebas blinks, shakes his head. “Saw me what?”
Roque is walking them to the bed. As smoothly as he’d lifted Sebas into his arms earlier, he lets go of him now, tossing him down onto the mattress. The force of it has Sebas bouncing a little. “With Diego,” Roque says.
Sebas gazes up at him, feeling dazed as Roque starts to undress, clothes discarded left and right. “Oh,” Sebas breathes. He’s grinning now. “You liked that?”
Roque says, “You have no idea.”
Sebas doesn’t get a chance to respond because then Roque’s Greek fucking god of a body is kneeling down onto the bed in front of him. He loses his breath a little, recovers it some when Roque moves above him, both hands anchored into the mattress on either side of Sebas’s body.
“Hey.” Sebas frowns. He touches Roque’s forearm, fingering his brace. “Careful with this.”
Roque shrugs, barely glancing down. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not still healing,” Sebas returns. “You don’t know what they did to you.”
Roque is smirking for some reason, lowering himself until he’s hovering inches above Sebas. Zero parts of their bodies are actually touching and it’s torture. Then Roque presses his mouth to Sebas’s neck again.
“I like this,” Roque murmurs into his skin. “You, worrying.”
Sebas rolls his eyes. He threads his hands through Roque’s hair and gives him a playful shove. Then his eyes are rolling for an altogether different reason as Roque lines their hips up, grinding down. They’re both hard despite the fact that they’ve barely done anything yet, which Sebas finds is even more of a turn-on.
He practically fights his way out of his clothes, trying to kiss Roque while making sure as much of their bodies are touching as possible. He licks his lips as Roque’s dick bounces, then presses up against Sebas’s stomach as Roque leans over him and retrieves a condom from the shelf.
“Let me.” Sebas takes it from him, rolling it onto Roque’s cock. Roque watches with a half-lidded expression, his jaw going slack. Sebas feel like he’s on fire. Roque’s hands go to the backs of his thighs, folding his knees up to his chest. God. Sebas is realizing just how much he likes being manhandled by him. This is something that definitely needs to be explored further.
Roque opens him up slowly with dexterous fingers. Sebas is half out of his mind with pleasure and forgets to berate him for using the wrong hand. Later, he thinks. Later. Later. They both shudder as Roque presses the tip of his cock into him, rocking in, out, then in again until Sebas has taken him fully inside. Sebas’s back arches. It’s agonizingly good.
“Come here,” Sebas rasps. “Come here.”
He sighs with something like relief as Roque settles over him, until they’re chest to chest. He grabs up palmfuls of Roque’s ass, urging him on as their mouths meet. It’s almost too much already, but when he pulls back he regrets it immediately and goes back to kissing Roque again to make up for what feels like lost time.
He revels in feeling pinned down by Roque’s body, the weight of his every movement, the snap of his hips as Roque thrusts into him. The slide of Roque’s stomach over his cock. Sebas doesn’t even want to know what unholy sounds are coming out of him right now, or how far down the hall people will be able to hear him.
Sebas arches until he’s practically off the bed, like he could possibly get any closer to Roque than this. Sebas wants to climb him again like he had when Roque carried him over the threshold. He wants whatever Roque is willing to give him, which, Sebas is starting to suspect, is everything.
Sebas wants to give Roque everything too.
He flips them, and Roque slips out of him for a moment as they readjust. Sebas nudges him upright and then straddles his thighs. Roque’s eyes close, his head leaned back against the shelf as Sebas sinks down onto him again, setting the rhythm this time around.
“Sebas.” His name comes out breathy, almost a sigh. Sebas takes Roque’s face in his hands, slotting the bridge of his nose against Roque’s brow where it feels like he was made for him there. Everywhere, really. This whole man was made just for him.
Roque’s palms are on his ass now and squeezing, lifting Sebas up and down on his cock. Sebas’s thighs are burning. If practice doesn’t leave him sore tomorrow, this will.
They mouth at each other, breathing hard through each half-kiss. Pleasure seizes up Sebas’s spine; it’s almost unbearable; he never wants it to stop. Roque’s thighs clench between his and then Roque is bucking him forward and and it’s officially on the right side of too much.
Sebas has come untouched few times in his life. This is one of them, and it seems to have no end as he buries his face into Roque’s neck and falls completely apart. Roque stiffens underneath him moments later, a gasp shaking out of him. Sebas’s whole body feels like a band around his, arms clasping shoulders, thighs clutching thighs. He thinks he might even bruise there tomorrow.
Sebas finally eases off of him just enough to collapse against his chest. It’s sticky there but he couldn’t care less as Roque puts his arms around him. Sebas burrows coser, winding up with his hips wedged in between Roque’s thighs. He kind of wants his head between Roque’s thighs instead, to taste him there, to take just a tiny bite. He can’t think of a more perfect way to go. He’ll just need a minute to catch his breath back first.
Roque’s hand is in his hair. Sebas closes his eyes. Maybe more than a minute.
Roque shifts a little. His thigh presses into Sebas’s hipbone. Sebas stares at the lines of it, mesmerized. Roque’s thigh looks like it was carved out of marble, except that it’s warm to the touch and Roque makes a low sound in his throat when Sebas drags a hand up the back. He marvels at how soft it is there.
He rises to his knees, then grips Roque by the waist, tugging him forward. Roque falls back, glancing up at Sebas with a startled kind of recognition. It reminds Sebas of the wrestling mat, how Roque had gazed up at him like he’d never been floored like that before.
Sebas doesn’t think of himself as exceptional enough for Roque to be in awe of his anything, but he’ll take it.
He leans over Roque to kiss him again before scooting himself down the rest of his body. Roque shifts onto his elbows to watch, lips parting as Sebas nudges his shoulders beneath Roque’s thighs. He moves his hands up their sides until his head is nestled between them. He presses his tongue to the inner part of one thigh, followed by his teeth. He locks eyes with Roque, watches him swallow. It is, as Sebas knew it would be, another perfect fit.