TITLE : Growing Pains, Part 2 (Unless I come up with something better)
SERIES : Untitled
AUTHOR : Anguisette
PAIRING : Nesta/Totti, implied Nesta/Maldini
RATING : NC-17 for violence and sexual activity
DISCLAIMER : This is nothing more than a work of fiction and not meant to imply anything about the sexuality of those involved. It never happened!
SUMMARY : After the incident on the field Nesta and Totti...talk things over in the dressing room.
AUTHOR'S NOTES : This is set during the summer break of 2003. Juve and Milan played a few matches in the USA and, in my imagination, Roma went with them.

Were I anyone else, confronted with a pissed off Nesta I'd have apologised and done so quickly. Even Zlatan had scrounged up that much common sense...eventually. Sandro winces and shifts slightly, putting his weight on the unblemished leg. Watching his pain makes me feel guilty, I want to apologise and I open my mouth to do so. Being myself, of course, what emerges is not, "I'm sorry."

"Lost Sandro?" I utter breezily. "Milan's dressing room is on the other side in case you forgot." It isn't what I intend to say at all, it isn't what I want to say. But, as usual, once it gets going my tongue takes on a life of its' own. I even manage a smirk and a particularly insulting drawl. "You know Sandro you should really be careful, you spend too much time with old people and you begin to pick up their bad habits, forgetfulness, for example." I push my damp hair off my face and meet his eyes. They are blank and almost black; given what I know of my Sandro and his moods if I'd any sense I'd be biting my tongue in two to stop it. Unfortunately, sense has always been a rare commodity with me. "And speaking of Paolo," I add spitefully, just in case my little dig wasn't pointed enough. "Did he comfort you? Kiss your bruise and make it better? I did you a favour really, didn't I? Did you like having his hands on you?"

"You little shit!" The hand slammed with brutal force across my face isn't entirely unexpected. The taste of blood in my mouth is slightly more so. I barely see him move but suddenly I'm shoved hard against the row of lockers. My head collides with the cool metal and my eyes begin to water. He's there against me and above me, pinning my arms down. The handle of one of the lockers is digging into my back and I'm more than a little alarmed.

"Get the hell off me, Sandro!" My vision is so blurred that I see two of him as I look up. I struggle to free my arms and he wrenches them above my head. The grip of his hands on my wrists is like iron, almost cutting off circulation to my hands. Christ, I've never realised before just how strong he is. He forces my legs apart with his knee and leans closer, his hips against mine the only thing keeping my towel in place. It's a familiar position and all my struggling manages to accomplish is arousal as my groin presses against his thigh.

"Shit, not now!" I mentally yell at my body, my efforts to push him away growing more desperate.

"Stop it!" He snaps and I look up at him. What I see in his eyes calms me a bit; he's furious yes, but it's not the blind, terriying rage of a few minutes ago. I let myself relax a bit, hopefully, he'll let down his guard and loosen his grip and I can get him off me.

"Well, now that I'm at your disposal..." I make a real effort not to sound belligerent or sarcastic.

The grip on my wrists eases as Sandro sighs, "I just wanted to talk to you. Look, Francesco, we've been friends for a long time and..." He breaks off in surprise as I begin to laugh and gives me an odd look. I don't blame him, my laughter is verging on hysterical even to my ears.

"What?" he asks in confusion.

"F...friends!" I manage to sputter the word out between giggles. "You think we're friends?"

"Well..." he sounds puzzled, "yes."

I make an effort to control myself as Sandro begins to look distressed. He releases my wrists and leans back a bit, not enough to do me much good. I guess I'm lucky he's been too upset to notice just what's been poking him in the thigh.

"Franco..." the tone is patient, concerned and annoying.

"Shut up, Sandro!" I interrupt. "Are you lying to Gabi about any of your other friends? Are you fucking any of them on away trips?

He colours and looks away, taking half a step back and I hook a leg around his hip to keep him close. My towel has slipped to the ground and the sensation of his shorts against my flesh is incredible. He makes a few incoherent, half-hearted protests that trail off when I wrap my other leg round him and slide my arms around his neck. He's thrown off balance and has to push me against the lockers and grab my ass to keep us upright.

"Be honest Sandro," I whisper. "I'm your whore! Just something you fuck when you have the time and desire then forget 'til next time."

"That's not true!" I'm not sure whom he's trying to convince

"Yes, it is!" I can feel his body awakening against mine and some strategic squirming on my part causes contact that distracts us a bit from conversation. Sandro gasps and tilts his head back, his fingers biting into my skin, the tip of his tongue slips out to moisten his lips. There is nothing more beautiful than Sandro undone and I pause to enjoy the sight before pressing my advantage. My tongue traces a path up the flesh of his exposed neck, kissing the sensitive place below his left ear and murmuring against the damp flesh. "Your whore, your slut. You like it, don't you Sandro, your dirty little secret naked and ready and hot for you."

He says something I don't catch, perhaps a denial, but the hands bruising me and the hardness grinding against me don't lie. "Fuck me," I purr, writhing against him. "Want you, now."

"Oh God," he groans into my ear. "We can't; there isn't time and we don't have anything..."

"You're always so negative Sandro," I admonish as I manouvere myself back on my feet. Grabbing his hand, I bring it to my lips and swirl my tongue over the tips of his fingers. "There's time and we can improvise," I murmur before taking three fingers into my mouth and sucking hard. I take the widening of his eyes and hitch in his breath as consent. I'm impatient, there's time but not much and having the team walk in on us isn't one of my fantasies. Besides, the hand tracing patterns down my chest and the weight of that burning gaze are driving me crazy. I let Sandro's fingers slip from my lips and turn, bracing myself against the lockers.

He molds his body to mine and I press back wantonly against his covered erection. He buries a hand in my hair and tugs, forcing me to look up at him.

"Not like this, I want to see you." If I weren't so horny I'd be touched. On my back on the bench it is then. I spread my legs and reach above my head, gripping the bench with both hands; slipping off and getting concussed on the floor isn't a fantasy of mine either. I'm glad I've done it when Sandro breaches me with a finger, easing it slowly in and out. It's been a while for me and my hips arch upwards, muscles clenching to keep him inside me.

"Hurry up!"

"I don't want to hurt you," He protests.

I give him a look that will hopefully draw his attention, without words, to the lump on my head, the cut in my mouth and the bruises on my wrists. His lashes drop. Success!

"More than I already have," He adds softly. The finger inside me presses forward gently to tease my prostate, making me gasp. His other hand reaches up to stroke my cheek in a gesture more tender than anything I've ever felt from him. There's a meaning in his words that seems to go beyond the physical damage he's done. He's looking at me as he touches my face and, God help me, I think he's actually seeing me and not pretending I'm Paolo.

"You...you won't hurt me," My voice trembles as I'm rewarded with another finger, stroking, scissoring, stretching me with torturous slowness. His free hand coasts slowly down my neck and chest, teasing aching nipples before continuing down to where it can do the most good. In the privacy of my own head I cheer as his hand wraps around my cock, I purr aloud which seems to amuse him. He laughs softly as he rubs his thumb over the head, smearing pre cum. I'm not in a laughing mood myself, the part of my brain still capable of working is trying to find a tactful way of asking him to hurry up and fuck me.

Sandro shifts, taking the hand on my erection away, the other still torturing me inside. The pad of his thumb is damp with precum and he licks it, gazing at me. I hadn't thought it possible but the sight makes me harder.

"Nice." he sounds pleasantly surprised. "Wonder if it tastes the same right from the source."

TBC