Gavi's arm is caught somewhere between numb and aching, stretched up under the weight of his head on the pillow. He's slept with his mouth pressed up tight against Pedri's neck. Has drooled unattractively on Pedri's skin, salivating, even while unconscious.
The room's too bright, makes him blink his eyes shut and nudge his nose to Pedri's nape, where he picks up on notes of shampoo and cologne from yesterday's post-match rituals, along with perspiration and himself from the night that followed. He presses in further against it, now, and nuzzles the skin there sleepily.
His cock is hard, resting between Pedri's asscheeks, and his hips are pressing instinctively forward, searching for friction. He cranes his neck and squints his eyes back open against the light and his own, sleepy haze for the sake of casting an orientating look around himself, noting that Pedri's busy tapping away at his phone, setting alarms.
A thrill goes through his body, makes it shiver against Pedri's back and all the way down to where his toes push up against Pedri's heels, because there's a sudden taste of anticipation at the back of his throat, sweet and addictive and familiar; a sense of contentment flooding his veins with warmth at the dawning realization of what today will entail for them.
Gavi kisses Pedri's nape and down the curve of the neck to the shoulder, feels how Pedri distractedly tilts his head to give Gavi better access. He's already desperate to get started. Knows he's the eager one during the first couple of rounds – that Pedri's far more patient than he'll ever be – but he takes that as a welcome challenge, drags his hand over Pedri's hip, across his lower abdomen and down to his soft cock, taking it in a clammy palm.
He likes working for it, fondling Pedri slowly into hardness like this and feeling Pedri's body respond to the movement of his own hand, even when he's still muddled with sleep and working on muscle memory and a permanent spike of desire for the man pressed against him.
His hips stutter against the curve of Pedri's ass – want to grind down, want more – but he doesn't like to do any of this alone; he wants Pedri breathless and falling apart with him every time. So he noses along the line of Pedri's neck again, nudging up against the ear and mouthing against its shell when he makes a demand out of Pedri's name, a plea for Pedri to turn his head back and meet him, because he knows what kissing does to Pedri. He's aware of how there's a sensitivity there; how a deep enough kiss can fill Pedri's cock with blood in a matter of seconds, work better than the slick grip of his hand if done right.
And it's the world's greatest wonder, really, that Pedri has allowed Gavi to figure that out. That he has let Gavi learn him inside out and name paths after himself in there – possessive, so that if he ever fucks up or gives Pedri a reason to let anyone else inside there after him, they'll know that he was there, that he left his mark, and that he loved Pedri better.
Pedri finishes up with nimble fingers; puts the phone face down on the mattress in front of him where Gavi knows from experience that its sole purpose for today is to keep them from losing themselves completely. He lets Pedri's half-hard cock slip out of his fingers, reaches over and pushes the offending device off the bed, down to where he knows he threw Pedri's clothes after he'd peeled them off last night. It thuds softly upon landing, but Pedri still grunts.
"You're buying me a new one when you break that."
"Happy to," Gavi rasps out, sleep-rough. "I'm good for it."
"And what about the pictures I've got of you in this one?" Pedri asks, leaning back into Gavi's chest in a subtle plea for Gavi to touch him again. "The ones I can't save on a cloud in case someone decides to hack into it, finds them, figures out what we do together, sees what you look like after I've made you—"
