Breakfast (James Rodriguez Fanfiction)

Breakfast

You wake up to the sun's dim rays sneaking in your room through the curtains. You roll over, hiding your face in your pillow and trying to go back to sleep. You wince as you do so because your body aches a little and some parts of your body more than the others. "What the hell?" you sigh exasperatedly and sit up. The clock on the bedside table says it's 10 AM, but wait ... you don't have a clock on your bedside table. And that's when it dawns on you that you're not in your own room, you're in his room. You rub your bleary eyes and look down at yourself as you pull the comforter away from your body, yup, you're naked. Turning your head slowly, you look at his side of the bed, but he isn't there which causes you let out a sigh of relief because you'd blush to death if he was. Thinking that he's probably gone jogging as he does every morning on his free days, you decide to head down to the kitchen and make yourself breakfast while waiting for him. Just because it is the closest thing your hands can reach, you wear his button-down which was carelessly thrown on the chair beside the bed and is probably three (or maybe a little more) sizes big for you. Yeah, you're lazy like that!! You run your fingers through your long hair trying to tame those wild locks of yours as you're padding down the stairs. You stop in your tracks however, when a half naked James comes to your sight. Since you thought you are alone, you are taken aback when you see him sitting there with his head tipped back, drinking. DAMN ... you think to yourself as your eyes are running up and down his naked torso. You must have said that out because he stops mid drinking and turns his head to your direction.

"Like what you see?" he asks smugly and that makes you snap out of whatever trance you've been in.

"Yeah, I definitely like the pancakes and the coffee you've made." you retort gathering your composure. "You're a very good cook."

And he is, you're almost annoyed that he's a better cook than you. Instead of talking back as you expect him, he stays uncharacteristically quiet. He just stares at you and his gaze is so intense that you can literally feel it on your skin as if he's caressing you. His eyes are running down your body slowly. From your hair which is still somewhat disheveled from sleep and ... uuummm ... some other things you might or might not have done last night, to your lips which are still a little swollen, to your neck, then your cleavage and lingers there for a few seconds. Your eyes widen as you remember that you haven't buttoned the shirt except for the two buttons in the middle. With one hand you try to button the shirt and with the other you tug at the edge of the shirt trying to cover your thighs a little more, but to no avail. He smirks a little when he sees you fiddling with his shirt.

"You should use both of your hands...," he says as he puts the bottle back on the table.

"Huh?" you look at him startled.

"To button the shirt," he finishes in an amused tone.

"Oh right," you mutter under your breath as you let go of the shirt and lift your hand to button it, this time with both hands. He stands up so quickly that he bumps into the table, causing his drink to spill into his plate. Closing the distance between the two of you in three long strides, he catches your hand in mid air before it touches the buttons.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks in a silky voice.

"I'm ... I'm doing as you told," you stutter avoiding his eyes.

"I simply reminded you how to button a shirt," he murmurs "I never asked you to do it, did I?"

You bite your lower lip out of nervousness; you always do it when you're nervous. It's a just habit, a habit he seems to love and hate at the same time. He tips your chin up and releases your lip from your teeth by his thumb.

"Are you trying to seduce me or are you nervous?" he asks huskily. You make me nervous as hell, you think to yourself, but you don't say it out loud. Because you don't want to give him the satisfaction and because he already knows. It's not that it's your first time, no. It's not that you've never seen him naked before because you have, numerous times both on and off the pitch. The thing is . . . it's your first time since your first time (last night) which makes it your second time and well ... you're not used to him seeing you like this, not yet. However, your train of thoughts is broken when you feel his fingers trailing down your torso undoing the two buttons.

"James?" is the only word you can utter when he wraps his other arm around your waist and brings you even closer.

"Have I ever told you that I love it when you wear my shirts?" he sounds breathless and it drives you crazy. Despite how embarrassed you feel, you're proud to have such effect on him.

Timidly, you turn your head up to look at him.

"What about breakfast?" your hands are on his chest, but instead of pushing him away as you had intended to do, you start caressing him. And GOD it turns him on like hell, you know it because you can feel his heart thumping beneath your fingers.

"What breakfast?" he whispers as he, very slowly, leans down and nudges your nose with his. Your faces are so close that you can't look anywhere except his eyes.

"The pancakes and the coffee and ..." you swallow audibly, you can't take it anymore you want him put an end to your misery and kiss you, take you, whatever, just ... just put out the fire burning inside you.

Something seems to snap inside him when he grabs your thighs, lifts you up as if you weigh nothing and puts you on the counter.

"F*ck the pancakes, I'll have you for breakfast," he says lustily before crashing his lips to yours and proceeding to ... well ... have you for breakfast.