Fic: Not Your Toy
Sep. 5th, 2010 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eleclyaFic: Not Your Toy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eleclya_m
Pairing: Felipe/Fernando, implied Felipe/Rob, Fernando/everyone
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Totally fictional, I do not know any of the characters mentioned, none of this is true. As far as I know. Apart from the Felipe/Rob stuff, that's totally true ^_^
Summary: Fernando wants his team mate. And Fernando is used to getting what he wants (post-Germany fic)
A/N: My first attempt at F1 fic, please be kind ^_^ Um, also just want to point out I do actually like Nano, even if I've not been particularly nice to him here >.<
Love always for mypretty_panther for reassuring me that it was good enough to post. I swear I'd never actually post any of the stuff I write without her encouragement XD
He treats them as a child might treat the contents of his toy box. Sure, he has favourites, some he goes back to more often than the rest, but still they get tossed aside, discarded once he grows bored of them, moving straight onto the next one without a backwards glance. Feelings don’t come into it for him; it’s all about getting off and having fun with as little impact on the rest of his life as possible. If they want to bring their own feelings along well good for them – he always got a more attentive fuck when the other thought they were ‘making love’ – but they all knew what he was like before they got involved, so it was their own problem if they got hurt.
Some thought they could change him. He was always particularly fond of that type, they were just so enthusiastic, so eager to please him and prove to him that they could be The One. He supposed going back to them could be seen as cruel, giving them false hope that maybe they can change him, that maybe they are more important to him than the others. But really, what is he supposed to do when they come to him, begging so prettily, offering themselves up to him, putting in every last bit of effort to show him how much better they are than the rest? The sport is full of competition, every second they are competing against each other, and if they want to bring that competitive nature to his bed then who is he to complain?
But one day it changes. There is one that gets to him, that works his way inside, that makes Fernando want. And he did it without ever even trying.
It all starts out innocently enough. They’ve both been on the circuit for many years now, and to be honest they’d never really paid each other mind. He’d never come to Fernando, and Fernando was never one to chase – why should he bother when he could just have someone else instead, and with much less effort on his part? But then they’re team mates, and Fernando thinks maybe he should try a little. Team mates are just so convenient after all, they’re always around, and that bit of extra competition, the contest to be best on the team as well as best on the track always makes things more exciting. So hints are dropped, every touch lingers that bit longer than before, every conversation becomes that bit more suggestive.
But nothing. No response. None at all.
He begins to wonder if the other man is maybe a little bit slow on the uptake, if he hasn’t realised that Fernando wants him. After all, with this much effort put in he could have had anyone else on their back, on their knees, up against whichever flat surface is most convenient a hundred times over by now. So the hints become a bit less subtle and the touches a bit more obvious. He even goes as far as to outright suggest that they go back to his room, but still he gets nothing more than a smile and a polite but definite rejection. He wonders if maybe he is just fiercely loyal to that engineer of his, but surely that shouldn’t matter, it’s never been a problem for him before that his partner is already attached. But not this time
He is sure that others are starting to notice by now. His team certainly have, knowing smirks being thrown his way every time he has to watch that small form walking away after yet another rebuff. He is still having his way with others around the paddock of course – he’s hardly going to go celibate for the man – but he is beginning to take his frustration out on them, being much rougher than he was previously, leaving marks and bruises and not always in places easily hidden. They still come back to him, they always do, but they are maybe that bit more wary, less eager to please.
Halfway through the season and still no luck. Then Germany happens.
After the race, during the podium and the presser and the interview after interview, the smaller man is quiet. Withdrawn. But every word Fernando hears leaves him with a pain in his heart. He didn’t want to win like that. He wanted to do it properly, to fight his way past so he could stand at the top of that podium and look out to see proud, adoring fans, look back to see grudgingly adoring competitors, look down to see his amazed, adoring team mate. He wanted to take him back to his hotel room, to talk about how well he had fought back, how difficult he had made it, how impressed he was with him until the other driver finally fell into his arms filled with praise and desperate to prove he could be just as good in the bedroom as he was on the track. Instead he could barely even look at him.
Tired of having to pretend to the world that he is ok with the situation, Fernando heads back to his hotel to take a long hot shower, hoping it might help to wash away the dirty feeling the day has left him with. As he rounds a corner he sees a flash of Ferrari red – his team mate walking ahead of him, leaning heavily into his engineer’s side. The ache in Fernando’s heart increases. He knows they are together (who doesn’t), and he knows that the order to step aside for him must’ve come from the Englishman. He is suddenly filled with the need to apologise, to make sure they know that it wasn’t what he wanted either. He bides his time, waits until they are far enough into the hotel that they have at least some semblance of privacy – the last thing he wants is to give the press more fuel to put on their already roaring red fire – before he runs over, calling the other’s name.
He pauses, but doesn’t turn around. Fernando calls out again, a little ”please” added on to the end for effect. He receives a cold look from both men in response, but they don’t walk away or tell him to leave, so that’s something?
“I just want to talk. About what happened. You can tell me to stop whenever you want but… I just want to give my side.”
Still no words, but he turns to look at his engineer and receives a tiny nod in response. The response Fernando himself gets is even less enthusiastic; a barely noticeable shrugs of the shoulders, but he does extricate himself from the taller man’s arms, ready to follow Fernando to wherever he feels this discussion should take place. He heads towards his room, hoping that the Brazilian will follow him. He had been hoping to bring him here under much happier circumstances before the race, but for once that isn’t on his mind at this time. He turns back to see his team mate receive a tender, loving kiss from the other man and feels his chest tighten once again. As they separate soft words are spoken between them. Whether they are words of encouragement, warning or simply love, Fernando does not know, but he does know that they are meant to be heard by no other. With one last kiss to the forehead, the taller man pushes his younger lover gently on his way. Fernando swallows hard, steeling himself for what lies ahead, and opens his door.
When his team mate follows him in, the look on his face has returned to cold, guarded. Fernando doesn’t quite know how to begin, so he decides to just jump in head first.
“I didn’t ask for it you know.”
Nothing more than a slightly arched eyebrow.
“The order. I didn’t want it. I mean, for sure I wanted to overtake you, but I wanted to do it myself.”
Nothing.
“You shouldn’t have had to give it up like that, it wasn’t fair, you had just as much right to win as I did.”
Nothing.
“…please, what more do you want from me?”
He stalks over to him, calmly, precisely. It’s strange to see the usually so exuberant man looking so still, but as he gets closer, Fernando can see that every muscle is tense, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. It’s all he can do not to take a step back, the anger radiating off the other man is almost palpable. He stops toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest with Fernando, head tilted back slightly to look him in the eye, jaw set. Determined.
“I want to win. I want to beat you.”
“But… the race is done. It’s not up to us now. I’m sorry.”
The final word seems to make him bristle, and Fernando nearly has to turn away as his eyes harden.
“I want to beat you.”
Before Fernando knows what is happening he has reached up with both hands to pull him down for a hard, bruising kiss. He gasps as the smaller man bites hard on his lower lip, allowing him access to thrust his tongue inside to explore his mouth. Whatever Fernando was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t even on the list.
They break apart, slightly dazed and panting heavily, lips red and wet and swollen.
“You wanted this. You wanted this all year. You flirt and grope and put yourself out there like a cheap whore. Well if you want it then we do it my way. You won on the track; I win in here.”
Somewhere along the line Fernando has started nodding furiously, agreeing with every harsh word spoken about him, pushing himself closer to the other man, anything to get that touch back. He has never been kissed like that before, and he wants more. Sure, he’s kissed rivals before, he’s felt passion borne out of anger rather than love, but never so raw, so fierce, so all-consuming. So unexpected.
He wraps Fernando’s shirt around his hands and pulls, material ripping, buttons flying off in all directions as it splits down the middle. When Fernando is pushed back onto the bed he immediately starts unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with his underwear in record time. The Brazilian laughs, undressing himself before following him down onto the bed.
“So eager.”
He settles himself between Fernando’s thighs, hissing as their cocks rub against each other. Fernando meanwhile has his head thrown back, moaning at the contact, breath hitching every time he shifts his weight. He leans forward to nip at a sharp collar bone, leaving a series of teeth marks leading to his exposed throat where he latches on, sucking and licking and biting just under his jaw-line, high enough that no turtle neck will ever be able to hide it. He rocks their hips together, reducing Fernando to little more than a quivering wreck, burying one hand in the other’s hair, pulling him closer, shivering as he felt him growl against his skin. The other hand grips onto narrow hips, fingernails digging into soft flesh, sure to leave lasting bruises.
He sits back to admire his handiwork, dropping a soft, pseudo-loving kiss on the angry purple mark he has left behind. He pauses to watch as Fernando writhes underneath him at the loss of contact, back arching impossibly, all control handed over.
“Condom?”
Fernando just points towards the bedside table, too delirious to do much more. He opens the draw to find a half-empty box right at the front. Rolling his eyes as he selects one, he also takes out the lube he finds next to them.
“Of course.”
But Fernando clearly doesn’t notice the remark, or at least doesn’t care, as he takes the foil packet from his grasp and rips it open. A moan is pulled from his throat as Fernando rolls the silicon onto his cock, and he takes a second to collect himself before pushing him over to lie on his stomach. He can’t help but admire the sight before him; Fernando pushed up onto his elbows so the muscles in his shoulders stand out, his back arched, knees spread apart, hips lifted up of the bed, offering himself up completely. He can certainly see why so many keep coming back for more, though from what he’s heard around the paddock there aren’t many who get to see this submissive side to him. Maybe one day he will have to find out if the other side is just as good.
Uncapping the lube, he makes quick work of preparing the Spaniard, delighting in the way he writhes and moans and pushes back onto his slender fingers, always asking for more. With a final twist he removes them, immediately moving to push his cock against Fernando’s entrance ready to replace them. He covers Fernando’s body with his own, sharp teeth sinking into that strong shoulder as he thrusts in.
Fernando pushes back against him, still demanding more. His whole world has narrowed down to this one bed, his entire focus on his team mate and the incredible feeling he is giving him. The throbbing in his shoulder becomes sharp, a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure radiating through him every time the Brazilian hits his prostate, which he is now doing with nearly every thrust. Resting his head against his forearm on the bed, he reaches down with the other hand to wrap around his own cock, but soon finds both wrists pinned to the mattress above his head, held together in one small but deceptively strong hand. The other pushes Fernando’s legs even further apart then grips tightly onto his hip, pressing him down into the bed. Fernando cries out as the new angle allows the smaller man to push impossibly deeper, brushing more firmly, more frequently against his sweet spot. With every thrust his cock rubs against the bed sheets, the friction just enough to send him spiralling over the edge. He practically screams out his team mate’s name, surely loud enough for half of the hotel to hear, feeling the other man’s thrust get even stronger, more erratic as he follows him, crying out in at least three different languages as he comes.
They collapse onto the bed together in a sweaty heap. Fernando winces as the other man pulls out and immediately climbs off him, dropping the condom on the floor for him to clear up before collecting his clothes. He watches on as he quickly throws them on, not once looking back at the man lying motionless on the bed before walking towards the door.
“…Felipe?”
His voice is quiet, apologetic. Felipe pauses by the door, but doesn’t look back.
“Are we… will we be ok?”
This time Felipe does turn back, seeming surprised by the question – even more surprised by the honest, open look on Fernando’s face.
“I guess so. You got what you want. I got what I want. From now it’s up to you to do the right thing.” He walks back to the bed and presses a gentle kiss to Fernando’s swollen lips, completely at odds with all their previous actions. Confused, Fernando accepts it gratefully, leaning up on his elbows to try and deepen it, but Felipe pulls away when he does.
“I think I feel sorry for you Nano. Maybe… maybe one day you learn how much better it is when it comes from here,” A hand presses firmly against his chest, heart beat racing beneath it. “And from here,” Soft lips brush across his forehead as he nuzzles against tangled, sweat-soaked hair. “Instead of from here.” Fernando twitches, not expecting the slender finger running down the length of his still sensitive cock. “Same goes for winning.”
With that Felipe turns and walks out of the door without a backwards glance, shutting it firmly behind him. Fernando trails fingers across his own chest, still feeling the pressure of his team mate’s hand.
“I know, Felipe. I know.”
Author:
eleclya_mPairing: Felipe/Fernando, implied Felipe/Rob, Fernando/everyone
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Totally fictional, I do not know any of the characters mentioned, none of this is true. As far as I know. Apart from the Felipe/Rob stuff, that's totally true ^_^
Summary: Fernando wants his team mate. And Fernando is used to getting what he wants (post-Germany fic)
A/N: My first attempt at F1 fic, please be kind ^_^ Um, also just want to point out I do actually like Nano, even if I've not been particularly nice to him here >.<
Love always for my
pretty_panther for reassuring me that it was good enough to post. I swear I'd never actually post any of the stuff I write without her encouragement XDHe treats them as a child might treat the contents of his toy box. Sure, he has favourites, some he goes back to more often than the rest, but still they get tossed aside, discarded once he grows bored of them, moving straight onto the next one without a backwards glance. Feelings don’t come into it for him; it’s all about getting off and having fun with as little impact on the rest of his life as possible. If they want to bring their own feelings along well good for them – he always got a more attentive fuck when the other thought they were ‘making love’ – but they all knew what he was like before they got involved, so it was their own problem if they got hurt.
Some thought they could change him. He was always particularly fond of that type, they were just so enthusiastic, so eager to please him and prove to him that they could be The One. He supposed going back to them could be seen as cruel, giving them false hope that maybe they can change him, that maybe they are more important to him than the others. But really, what is he supposed to do when they come to him, begging so prettily, offering themselves up to him, putting in every last bit of effort to show him how much better they are than the rest? The sport is full of competition, every second they are competing against each other, and if they want to bring that competitive nature to his bed then who is he to complain?
But one day it changes. There is one that gets to him, that works his way inside, that makes Fernando want. And he did it without ever even trying.
It all starts out innocently enough. They’ve both been on the circuit for many years now, and to be honest they’d never really paid each other mind. He’d never come to Fernando, and Fernando was never one to chase – why should he bother when he could just have someone else instead, and with much less effort on his part? But then they’re team mates, and Fernando thinks maybe he should try a little. Team mates are just so convenient after all, they’re always around, and that bit of extra competition, the contest to be best on the team as well as best on the track always makes things more exciting. So hints are dropped, every touch lingers that bit longer than before, every conversation becomes that bit more suggestive.
But nothing. No response. None at all.
He begins to wonder if the other man is maybe a little bit slow on the uptake, if he hasn’t realised that Fernando wants him. After all, with this much effort put in he could have had anyone else on their back, on their knees, up against whichever flat surface is most convenient a hundred times over by now. So the hints become a bit less subtle and the touches a bit more obvious. He even goes as far as to outright suggest that they go back to his room, but still he gets nothing more than a smile and a polite but definite rejection. He wonders if maybe he is just fiercely loyal to that engineer of his, but surely that shouldn’t matter, it’s never been a problem for him before that his partner is already attached. But not this time
He is sure that others are starting to notice by now. His team certainly have, knowing smirks being thrown his way every time he has to watch that small form walking away after yet another rebuff. He is still having his way with others around the paddock of course – he’s hardly going to go celibate for the man – but he is beginning to take his frustration out on them, being much rougher than he was previously, leaving marks and bruises and not always in places easily hidden. They still come back to him, they always do, but they are maybe that bit more wary, less eager to please.
Halfway through the season and still no luck. Then Germany happens.
After the race, during the podium and the presser and the interview after interview, the smaller man is quiet. Withdrawn. But every word Fernando hears leaves him with a pain in his heart. He didn’t want to win like that. He wanted to do it properly, to fight his way past so he could stand at the top of that podium and look out to see proud, adoring fans, look back to see grudgingly adoring competitors, look down to see his amazed, adoring team mate. He wanted to take him back to his hotel room, to talk about how well he had fought back, how difficult he had made it, how impressed he was with him until the other driver finally fell into his arms filled with praise and desperate to prove he could be just as good in the bedroom as he was on the track. Instead he could barely even look at him.
Tired of having to pretend to the world that he is ok with the situation, Fernando heads back to his hotel to take a long hot shower, hoping it might help to wash away the dirty feeling the day has left him with. As he rounds a corner he sees a flash of Ferrari red – his team mate walking ahead of him, leaning heavily into his engineer’s side. The ache in Fernando’s heart increases. He knows they are together (who doesn’t), and he knows that the order to step aside for him must’ve come from the Englishman. He is suddenly filled with the need to apologise, to make sure they know that it wasn’t what he wanted either. He bides his time, waits until they are far enough into the hotel that they have at least some semblance of privacy – the last thing he wants is to give the press more fuel to put on their already roaring red fire – before he runs over, calling the other’s name.
He pauses, but doesn’t turn around. Fernando calls out again, a little ”please” added on to the end for effect. He receives a cold look from both men in response, but they don’t walk away or tell him to leave, so that’s something?
“I just want to talk. About what happened. You can tell me to stop whenever you want but… I just want to give my side.”
Still no words, but he turns to look at his engineer and receives a tiny nod in response. The response Fernando himself gets is even less enthusiastic; a barely noticeable shrugs of the shoulders, but he does extricate himself from the taller man’s arms, ready to follow Fernando to wherever he feels this discussion should take place. He heads towards his room, hoping that the Brazilian will follow him. He had been hoping to bring him here under much happier circumstances before the race, but for once that isn’t on his mind at this time. He turns back to see his team mate receive a tender, loving kiss from the other man and feels his chest tighten once again. As they separate soft words are spoken between them. Whether they are words of encouragement, warning or simply love, Fernando does not know, but he does know that they are meant to be heard by no other. With one last kiss to the forehead, the taller man pushes his younger lover gently on his way. Fernando swallows hard, steeling himself for what lies ahead, and opens his door.
When his team mate follows him in, the look on his face has returned to cold, guarded. Fernando doesn’t quite know how to begin, so he decides to just jump in head first.
“I didn’t ask for it you know.”
Nothing more than a slightly arched eyebrow.
“The order. I didn’t want it. I mean, for sure I wanted to overtake you, but I wanted to do it myself.”
Nothing.
“You shouldn’t have had to give it up like that, it wasn’t fair, you had just as much right to win as I did.”
Nothing.
“…please, what more do you want from me?”
He stalks over to him, calmly, precisely. It’s strange to see the usually so exuberant man looking so still, but as he gets closer, Fernando can see that every muscle is tense, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. It’s all he can do not to take a step back, the anger radiating off the other man is almost palpable. He stops toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest with Fernando, head tilted back slightly to look him in the eye, jaw set. Determined.
“I want to win. I want to beat you.”
“But… the race is done. It’s not up to us now. I’m sorry.”
The final word seems to make him bristle, and Fernando nearly has to turn away as his eyes harden.
“I want to beat you.”
Before Fernando knows what is happening he has reached up with both hands to pull him down for a hard, bruising kiss. He gasps as the smaller man bites hard on his lower lip, allowing him access to thrust his tongue inside to explore his mouth. Whatever Fernando was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t even on the list.
They break apart, slightly dazed and panting heavily, lips red and wet and swollen.
“You wanted this. You wanted this all year. You flirt and grope and put yourself out there like a cheap whore. Well if you want it then we do it my way. You won on the track; I win in here.”
Somewhere along the line Fernando has started nodding furiously, agreeing with every harsh word spoken about him, pushing himself closer to the other man, anything to get that touch back. He has never been kissed like that before, and he wants more. Sure, he’s kissed rivals before, he’s felt passion borne out of anger rather than love, but never so raw, so fierce, so all-consuming. So unexpected.
He wraps Fernando’s shirt around his hands and pulls, material ripping, buttons flying off in all directions as it splits down the middle. When Fernando is pushed back onto the bed he immediately starts unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with his underwear in record time. The Brazilian laughs, undressing himself before following him down onto the bed.
“So eager.”
He settles himself between Fernando’s thighs, hissing as their cocks rub against each other. Fernando meanwhile has his head thrown back, moaning at the contact, breath hitching every time he shifts his weight. He leans forward to nip at a sharp collar bone, leaving a series of teeth marks leading to his exposed throat where he latches on, sucking and licking and biting just under his jaw-line, high enough that no turtle neck will ever be able to hide it. He rocks their hips together, reducing Fernando to little more than a quivering wreck, burying one hand in the other’s hair, pulling him closer, shivering as he felt him growl against his skin. The other hand grips onto narrow hips, fingernails digging into soft flesh, sure to leave lasting bruises.
He sits back to admire his handiwork, dropping a soft, pseudo-loving kiss on the angry purple mark he has left behind. He pauses to watch as Fernando writhes underneath him at the loss of contact, back arching impossibly, all control handed over.
“Condom?”
Fernando just points towards the bedside table, too delirious to do much more. He opens the draw to find a half-empty box right at the front. Rolling his eyes as he selects one, he also takes out the lube he finds next to them.
“Of course.”
But Fernando clearly doesn’t notice the remark, or at least doesn’t care, as he takes the foil packet from his grasp and rips it open. A moan is pulled from his throat as Fernando rolls the silicon onto his cock, and he takes a second to collect himself before pushing him over to lie on his stomach. He can’t help but admire the sight before him; Fernando pushed up onto his elbows so the muscles in his shoulders stand out, his back arched, knees spread apart, hips lifted up of the bed, offering himself up completely. He can certainly see why so many keep coming back for more, though from what he’s heard around the paddock there aren’t many who get to see this submissive side to him. Maybe one day he will have to find out if the other side is just as good.
Uncapping the lube, he makes quick work of preparing the Spaniard, delighting in the way he writhes and moans and pushes back onto his slender fingers, always asking for more. With a final twist he removes them, immediately moving to push his cock against Fernando’s entrance ready to replace them. He covers Fernando’s body with his own, sharp teeth sinking into that strong shoulder as he thrusts in.
Fernando pushes back against him, still demanding more. His whole world has narrowed down to this one bed, his entire focus on his team mate and the incredible feeling he is giving him. The throbbing in his shoulder becomes sharp, a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure radiating through him every time the Brazilian hits his prostate, which he is now doing with nearly every thrust. Resting his head against his forearm on the bed, he reaches down with the other hand to wrap around his own cock, but soon finds both wrists pinned to the mattress above his head, held together in one small but deceptively strong hand. The other pushes Fernando’s legs even further apart then grips tightly onto his hip, pressing him down into the bed. Fernando cries out as the new angle allows the smaller man to push impossibly deeper, brushing more firmly, more frequently against his sweet spot. With every thrust his cock rubs against the bed sheets, the friction just enough to send him spiralling over the edge. He practically screams out his team mate’s name, surely loud enough for half of the hotel to hear, feeling the other man’s thrust get even stronger, more erratic as he follows him, crying out in at least three different languages as he comes.
They collapse onto the bed together in a sweaty heap. Fernando winces as the other man pulls out and immediately climbs off him, dropping the condom on the floor for him to clear up before collecting his clothes. He watches on as he quickly throws them on, not once looking back at the man lying motionless on the bed before walking towards the door.
“…Felipe?”
His voice is quiet, apologetic. Felipe pauses by the door, but doesn’t look back.
“Are we… will we be ok?”
This time Felipe does turn back, seeming surprised by the question – even more surprised by the honest, open look on Fernando’s face.
“I guess so. You got what you want. I got what I want. From now it’s up to you to do the right thing.” He walks back to the bed and presses a gentle kiss to Fernando’s swollen lips, completely at odds with all their previous actions. Confused, Fernando accepts it gratefully, leaning up on his elbows to try and deepen it, but Felipe pulls away when he does.
“I think I feel sorry for you Nano. Maybe… maybe one day you learn how much better it is when it comes from here,” A hand presses firmly against his chest, heart beat racing beneath it. “And from here,” Soft lips brush across his forehead as he nuzzles against tangled, sweat-soaked hair. “Instead of from here.” Fernando twitches, not expecting the slender finger running down the length of his still sensitive cock. “Same goes for winning.”
With that Felipe turns and walks out of the door without a backwards glance, shutting it firmly behind him. Fernando trails fingers across his own chest, still feeling the pressure of his team mate’s hand.
“I know, Felipe. I know.”
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no subject
on 2010-09-05 06:49 pm (UTC)And you can show me fic anytime and I shall get you to post cause you're awesome :D
♥
no subject
on 2010-09-05 07:30 pm (UTC)Thank you hunny, that means so much to me :)
And of course I had to include some Felipe/Rob. I wouldn't be me if I didn't XD
no subject
on 2010-09-05 07:40 pm (UTC)♥
Yus, it would...the fic would actually shatter into pieces and not be readable O.o
no subject
on 2010-09-05 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-05 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-05 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-05 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 10:31 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-09-06 07:49 pm (UTC)Your first attempt is brilliant! top!Felipe! is always good reading material and I'll read this again many more times. The emotions and the inclusion of Rob (and my favourite pairing Masssa/Smedley) really toppped it.
This has just become my favourite slash fic ever!
no subject
on 2010-09-06 08:57 pm (UTC)Rob/Felipe is absolutely my favourite pairing too, so I just had to get them in there somewhere XD
no subject
on 2010-09-16 07:29 pm (UTC)