meretricula | fic: your love is gonna grow (football rpf)

cross-posting proceeds slowly, but it proceeds...

title: your love is gonna grow
fandom: Football RPF
pairing: Iker Casillas/Sara Carbonero
rating: NC-17
word count: 1800
summary: Iker finds an innovative way to get Sara to eat more.
notes: for

mardia, who deserves all the WAG fic in the world! besos times a zillion, sweetie.

"Babe? Sara, are you home?" Iker kicked off his shoes in the hallway and continued into the house, frowning when the only sound that met him was his own footsteps. "Baby? Where are you?"

The bedroom was empty. So was the kitchen. Iker was racking his brain for some social engagement he'd forgotten when he noticed the low murmur of the television in the den, and when he followed it he found Sara passed out sitting upright on the couch. "Baby, you're going to have the worst crick in your neck."

"Nnngh," Sara said, her eyes fluttering open. "What?"

"Long day?" Iker asked, and bent down for a kiss without waiting for a response. Sara's mouth tasted faintly sour with sleep but when her fingers twisted in Iker's hair he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. "Missed you," he added.

"You saw me just this morning," she pointed out. Her eyes were finally starting to focus properly, Iker could tell. She blinked up at him and smiled, and he couldn't help the stupid grin that spread across his face because he'd done that, he'd made her smile like that and he was never going to be tired of it.

He sat down on the couch next to her and put an arm around her, encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder. "Missed you anyway," he said. She sighed as he pressed a kiss to her hair, and they both sagged in toward each other.

"Where do you want to go for dinner?" he asked, a little later.

She sighed again. "I'm not hungry. Pick whatever you want."

Iker frowned. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," she repeated. "I'm just tired. It's fine. I'll have breakfast tomorrow, I promise."

"I'll make you something," Iker decided, getting to his feet.

"Oh, for god's sake, Iker--" Sara followed him into the kitchen. Iker didn't look back, but he could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "I told you, I'm not hungry. You don't have to bother. Don't--look, just give me that," she added, grabbing for the knife Iker had taken out of the block. "I'll cook you something if you don't want to go out."

"I want to," he said firmly. "Sit down and let me do this for you. Please," he added when she gave him a long, flat stare. She waited just long enough to make him sincerely sorry for trying to order her around before flopping down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. She was almost graceless about it except she wasn't capable of moving without grace, so instead it was a sort of theatrical performance of elaborate disinterest, and Iker couldn't bite down on it anymore: he loved every sulky inch of her so much he thought he was going to explode. He put down the knife and rounded the table so he could wrap his arms around her.

"It's too hot," Sara said into his midriff, petulant as a spoiled Infanta. "I don't want anything cooked."

"All right." Iker stroked her hair until she finally relaxed into him, and then a little longer. Sara had the most beautiful hair he'd ever seen: he'd watched her perform all of her finicky little rituals to keep it that way, but it hadn't ruined the mystery for him. "I'll just chop up some fruit, all right? Will you eat that for me?"

She huffed out a breath but didn't protest, which Iker knew was as close to surrender as he was likely to get, so he went back to the counter and started putting together a meal for Sara. He peeled oranges and covered every surface in a three-foot radius with a thin sticky layer of the citrus oil that sprayed from the skin, chopped pineapple and dripped juice down his shirt, cut up enormous strawberries until his fingers were stained red. He hummed to himself as he worked; he was, at the heart of things, happy to have something he could do for Sara, something he could give. He was grateful that she asked so little of him, but it was upsetting, too, when he wanted to give her so much, that she neither wanted nor needed his money, that in the end she received such a small portion of his time each day. At least he could do this; at least he could make her something to eat.

He brought the bowl of fruit over to the table when he was finished and put it down by Sara's elbow; she had propped it against the table so she could put her cheek in her hand and half-doze off. She only shook herself awake again when Iker touched her shoulder, and she looked completely uninterested in the food he'd brought her. "Please eat," Iker said. He sank down onto his knees beside her and put his head in her lap, his face turned so he could look up at her. "At least a little?"

Sara picked up a piece of strawberry and ate it in two quick bites, eyes rolling, and Iker pressed a kiss to her thigh through the fabric of her skirt. "Would you eat another for me?"

This time she chose an orange segment from the bowl. She held it against her lips for a moment, then let her hand drop back down. "What's it worth to you?" she asked lightly. For a moment Iker didn't understand, and then she let her legs fall open, just a bit.

"Keep eating and you'll find out," he said. He watched Sara eat the piece of orange and another strawberry slice, then a chunk of pineapple, and lick the juice from her fingers when it was gone. Satisfied that they had a bargain, he slid forward on his knees into the space she'd made for him between her thighs. "Keep eating," he reminded her.

"You haven't given me much of a reason yet," she said, teasing, her free hand raking through his hair.

"I will," Iker promised. He worked her skirt up until it was around her waist and pushed her knees as far apart as they would go, and pressed his mouth to the thin layer of cotton that still separated them. Sara had fancier underwear to wear out, and sometimes to surprise him she would go naked under her pretty dresses, but Iker secretly liked the plain, practical panties she wore to work best of all. He could smell her on the fabric. He inhaled through his nose, savoring the rich scent of her, and breathed out warm and damp into the cloth before lapping at it with his tongue. Sara sighed above him, and he felt her thighs quiver ever so slightly under his hands. "Have some more pineapple, it's very good," he said, and went back to work, licking at her through her panties until they were thoroughly wet with his saliva over her clit.

He could hear her breath coming faster, though Sara was never very loud. Iker pulled her panties a bit to the side and slid two fingers right into her without any difficulty: she was so wet, he thought, a little in awe. He loved that about her body, loved how she welcomed him so easily. She had both hands buried in his hair now, urging him on, and he loved it, loved when she yanked to make him go harder, but then he realized what it meant.

"No," he said, drawing back, firm despite his reluctance. "You promised. Eat."

"Iker," she said sharply, a command rather than a plea.

"Eat," he repeated. She stared down at him; she was irritated, maybe even angry, at his unaccustomed defiance. Still, after a moment she chose another orange segment from the bowl on the table and took a bite. Iker smiled up at her and returned his attentions to her cunt. She was shaking and so slick around his fingers, under his tongue, and all he could think as he brought her back to the edge of orgasm and finally over it was how much he loved this, loved her, and how grateful he was that if he wanted to he could make Sara come in the middle of their kitchen every day for the rest of their lives.

"Well," Sara said a few minutes later, only a little breathless. "Dinner's going to become my favorite meal of the day if you keep serving it like this."

Iker had already started to sit back up, but when she spoke he hurried to his feet. "Are you still hungry? I can make something else if--"

"Iker!" Sara laughed. "I just ate an entire bowl of fruit! Trust me, the last thing I want right now is more food." She stood up and gave him a lingering kiss, untroubled by the sticky traces drying on his mouth and chin, but Iker couldn't throw himself into it so wholeheartedly, still turning her last words over in his mind. "What's this about, really? Iker," she said firmly, and pushed him back down into the chair. "Iker, look at me. What's going on?"

He looked up and then away again. "You work so hard," he said reluctantly. "And you don't rest enough, and you're so thin now. I just--I'm afraid you're going to make yourself sick."

"Iker," she said again. She sat down straddling his lap, and he had to force himself not to be distracted by the weight of her pressing against his cock, or her fingers brushing over his chin, turning his face up so he had no choice but to look her in the eye. This was important. "I didn't realize this was upsetting you," she said gently. "I'm sorry, I know I've been very busy. I promise I'll try to remember to eat more, all right?" She smiled and tapped a finger against his mouth, and then his teeth when he parted his lips for her. "And you can always remind me."

"I'll remind you anytime you want," Iker blurted, before he stopped to think about how stupid he sounded. He couldn't tell if Sara was laughing at what he'd said or just at how much he was blushing.

"Oh, I love you," she said, still laughing, and then she ground herself down against him and pushed any thought of embarrassment out of his head. "I love you so much. Why don't you take off all those uncomfortable clothes?" She waggled her eyebrows at him, putting on a silly voice that he knew nobody else ever got to hear. There were so many sides to Sara that were just for him, and it was selfish but he was happy that he didn't have to share. "We can see about working up an appetite."