bunny

"i hate them," he mutters, kicking his shoes off so hard one of them hits the wall. "like, actually. they’re trying to kill me, i swear." his voice doesn't even sound like him, all rough and flat from being tired. he drops his gym bag right in the middle of the hallway and doesn't even care, just groans loud and dramatic like he's dying. he kind of sounds like a little kid honestly, whining about how hard practice was.

you emerge from the living room, your steps silent on the hardwood as you walk over to him. "come here, you big baby," you say, teasing, though your heart aches a little at how truly drained he looks. when you get close, he just leans into you, forehead dropping to your shoulder. his skin is burning up through his damp training shirt.

"amore, i can’t feel my legs," he mumbles into your neck, breath hot and uneven, arms coming around your middle. "everything hurts. i’m serious."

"i know, i know," you say, one hand finding the sweaty hair at the back of his neck, the other rubbing slow circles on his back. "c’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes, you’re soaked." you start pulling his shirt up and it peels off him wet, sticking to his skin. he groans when the cold air hits him but doesn’t pull away, just melts into your hands, eyes half lidded with fatigue.

the shirt comes off completely, revealing the impressive hard won architecture of his physique. his chest and stomach are still tense, droplets of sweat running down his torso and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"ugh. i feel so gross," he complains, though his hands have already found your hips, holding on like he needs the contact more than the sympathy. "i think i’m literally made of salt right now."

you guide him toward the bedroom, one hand on his back. every few steps he pauses to huff out another complaint about arteta’s intensity, the humidity on the pitch, the aches in his calves, but it looses its edge the more you touch him. less annoyed, more like he just wants someone to take care of him. he’s letting you see the exhaustion he hides from everyone else, trusting you to hold the pieces of him while he recovers.

the bedroom is dimly lit, just the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp throwing shadows on the wall. you guide him to the bed and he lets himself drop, no grace at all, just the boneless collapse of someone who can’t hold himself up anymore. he rolls onto his back with a loud, dramatic sigh and throws one arm over his eyes to block out the light.

"okay. i’m actually going to die here," he groans into the pillow, his voice muffled and thick with exaggerated misery. "just leave me. tell my mom i died doing what i loved."

you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, standing there looking at him sprawled out like that. "oh no, poor baby," you tease, your fingers already working at the drawstring of his athletic shorts. "you want me to call an ambulance, or can you hang in there while i finish undressing you?" you reach down, your knuckles brushing against the warm skin of his stomach as you tug the fabric loose. "you’re such a baby when you're tired, you know that?"

"i am not a baby," he whines, but doesn’t move to help at all. arm still over his eyes, completely at your mercy. "i’m a wounded soldier. there’s a difference." as you slide the shorts down past his hips, revealing the powerful curve of his thighs and the patch of hair beginning at his groin, he lets out another whiny hum of approval, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary twitch at the sensation of cool air meeting his heated skin.

"sure. a wounded soldier who complains more than a toddler," you throw back, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and going slow just to mess with him. "too tired to even help me out, huh? want me to grab you a blanket so you can just nap through this?"

he laughs, tired but real. "don’t tempt me," he mumbles, fingers twitching against the sheets. "i might actually pass out." something in his voice changes though, not as tired anymore. even with his eyes covered you can tell he’s paying attention, the way his breathing shifts when you lean in closer.

you finally tug the last of his clothing away, leaving him bare beneath the lamplight. his body looks like something carved from marble, every muscle defined and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. something about him like this, stretched out and totally open, makes your stomach flip.

"there you go," you say quietly, hands resting on his sides. "all done."

you remain seated on the edge of the mattress, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rises and falls in those heavy, exhausted rhythms. you can see the tension still coiled deep within his muscles, the kind of residual tightness that sleep alone won't fix.

"you’re still so wound up," you say, voice going lower. "all that whining about how much you hurt. maybe i can help you forget about it for a bit?"

he doesn't respond immediately, only letting out a long, shaky exhale that sends a shiver through his abdomen.

"i don't think I have the energy to—" he starts to protest, but the words die in his throat when he feels your cool fingers trace a slow, deliberate path down his hip. you shift, sitting back on your heels between his spread thighs.

you lean down and start slow, kissing along his stomach, tasting salt on his skin. his breath catches. his arm finally comes off his eyes and he’s watching you now, pupils blown out. "what are you doing…?," he rasps, not really a question, voice rougher than before.

"just helping you relax," you murmur against his skin, your lips moving higher toward his ribcage before dipping back down to the sensitive dip of his hip bones. you use your tongue to trace the V line that disappears between his thighs. his muscles jump involuntarily at the contact, hips lifting up on their own like he can’t help it.

you reach down, your palm finally cupping the relaxed length of his cock. you begin to stroke him with agonizing slowness, your thumb circling the sensitive tip while your fingers wrap around the base. "still so soft," you tease against his inner thigh, your breath hot against his skin. "i wonder how long it will take to change that."

riccardo makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine, head falling back against the pillow. his hips begin to move more purposefully now, seeking the friction of your palm.

"you’re so mean," he breathes out, no actual annoyance in it at all, only a desperate, growing need. "doing this to me when i literally can’t move." even as he complains, his cock begins to stir beneath your fingers, the soft flesh gradually thickening and lengthening as arousal starts to claim him.

you don’t rush it. you keep your focus on the territory surrounding his cock, your lips finding the sensitive skin of his inner thighs where the muscles quiver with every touch. you press open mouthed, wet kisses to the tender flesh there, your tongue darting out to taste the salt that still clings to him. his breathing’s different now, not tired anymore, more like he’s trying to hold himself together. "you’re— this is unfair," he says, fists twisting into the sheets. "you know that, right?"

you don’t answer immediately, fighting a grin. your hands and tongue continue their slow, torturous work.

"look at you," you whisper, lifting your head to meet his gaze. his eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the hazel irises as he watches you work. "so tense and needy." you lean down again, this time bringing your mouth directly to the underside of his shaft. you use your tongue to lap at the sensitive seam where the skin is thinnest. the taste of him, pure and masculine, fills your senses, making your own mouth water.

he’s fully hard now, heavy in your hand, the tip glistening with pre cum that beads at the opening. every time you touch him he twitches, fingers finally leaving the sheets to slide into your hair not to pull, but just to hold on.

"please," he says, voice cracking. "please— I can’t… I can’t take much more of this."

you pause for one final moment, watching the way his cock twitches in anticipation, the veins standing out starkly against the sun kissed skin. you run the tip of your tongue along the entire length of the ridge, savoring it before you finally part your lips.

slowly and deliberately, you close the distance.

the second your mouth’s on him, his whole body goes tense, head snapping back, a broken sound tearing out of him. the heat of him fills your mouth, the slide of his skin against your tongue as you take him deeper. all that exhaustion from earlier is gone now. his hips push up, chasing more, and you let him, hands gripping his thighs as you take him deeper.

you trace along underside of his shaft with your tongue, where the veins stand out like corded rope, then swirl around the tip as you withdraw slightly before plunging back down. the deliberate play between suction and tongue work sends him over the edge of control, his breathing’s completely wrecked now, chest heaving.

"oh my god, piccola—," he groans, barely getting the words out. "just like that… don’t stop." his eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscles working along his neck as he tries to process the overwhelming stimulation.

you suck harder, tongue swirling around the tip, building up pressure that has him gasping. the sound of your wet, sloppy sucking fills the quiet room. you can feel the way his cock throbs against your tongue, each pulse more urgent than the last. when you slide down to take the full length of him, your throat stretching to accommodate his size, riccardo lets out a strangled, guttural cry.

"don’t stop… please don’t stop,” he babbles again, barely making sense anymore. "you feel… God…that feels so good."

you speed up and you can feel him getting close, cock throbbing in your mouth, hips losing their rhythm completely as they buck into your mouth.

"baby… ‘s too much… i’m gonna— I’m so close,” he gasps out, whole body pulled tight, thighs shaking under your hands. "i’m right there… don’t stop, please—"

you feel him go still for one second before his hips snap up hard, and you hold on, taking everything he gives you as he comes, hard, moaning loud into the quiet room, body shaking through it until he’s completely spent. you swallow around him and don’t pull back until he’s done.

you’re both still catching your breath when his hands, still shaky, come up and grab your face. he pulls you up his body until you’re straddling him, faces close together.

and then he kisses you. no hesitation at all. he can taste himself on your mouth, but he doesn’t pull back from it. if anything, he kisses you deeper because of it, like he wants more of it. the kiss isn’t gentle, it’s hungry and consuming, his tongue chasing yours like he’s trying to consume you entirely. his hands slide down from your face to grip your ass, pulling your pelvis flush against his bare cock, even sensitive as he still is.

slowly he calms down, his grip going from needy to just holding you close. he lets out a long breath, sounding satisfied for the first time all night, and pulls you down next to him. "stay here,” he mumbles, already half asleep. "don’t move, okay? stay."

you settle against him, fitting into his side like you belong there. his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in. you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat slow down.

"you’re still all warm," you say quietly. "an hour ago you were literally dying, remember?"

he laughs, low and real. "okay, maybe i was being a little dramatic," he admits, breath moving through your hair. "but honestly? this beats sleep. this beats everything." he nuzzles into your neck, light stubble scratching a little. "you’re the only thing that could’ve saved me tonight, you know."

you throw your leg over his hip and feel him relax completely under you, all the tension from earlier finally gone. the room goes quiet except for your breathing, matching up now, lamp still low and everything outside just kind of disappears.

"go to sleep, ricky," you tell him, tracing shapes on his chest. "no more complaining, deal?"