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Ferran watched from across the locker room as Pedri peeled off his training top without sparing him a glance. No jokes, no shoulder bumps, no usual subtle grin. Nothing.
He frowned, towel slung over his shoulder. “You’ve been ignoring me all morning.”
Pedri didn’t answer. Just bent over to untie his boots with sharp, jerky movements.
“Okay,” Ferran said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “Are you mad at me?”
Pedri straightened up slowly. His cheeks were flushed — not from exertion. “What do you think?”
Ferran blinked. “Was it… last night?”
Pedri finally looked at him. “You think?”
Ferran winced. “Okay. I know I said I wouldn’t. I—”
“You promised, Ferran.” Pedri's voice was low, but tight with frustration. “I told you not to knot me. I have to run drills today, not limp through a recovery session like some injured grandpa.”
He was sore. He’d said no to the knot. Ferran had done it anyway, crooning “ just let me, cariño, ” like that made it better. Like making Pedri come twice during it excused the way he’d gasped, “ Don’t—Ferran—please don’t knot me—” before it was too late.
Ferran’s mouth opened, then closed. “…I didn’t mean to. I got carried away. You were—God, you were making all those noises—”
Pedri gave him a look. “Seriously?”
“Okay, no, that’s not an excuse,” Ferran backpedaled, raising both hands. “I just—I got too into it, and it happened before I realized. I’m really sorry.”
“You’re lucky it didn’t get stuck longer,” Pedri muttered, rubbing at the small of his back like it still ached. “I should’ve kneed you in the stomach the second it swelled.”
Ferran tried not to smile. He failed.
Pedri narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m not,” Ferran said quickly. Then paused. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“I hate you,” Pedri said, without heat.
Ferran stepped closer, voice soft. “Can I make it up to you?”
“Not unless you can magically unsore my ass.”
Ferran leaned in, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “Massage later. Dinner after. No knot. Promise.”
Pedri sighed. “You already broke the last promise.”
“I’ll make it a vow this time.”
Pedri side-eyed him. “You better.”
Ferran leaned down, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Though... you did feel perfect around it.”
Pedri's head whipped toward him, scandalized. “Ferran.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “Just saying I thought you wanted it. You were so—fuck, Pedri, you were soaking. You pulled me deeper.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yet here we are.” Ferran grinned, all smug Alpha. “And don’t pretend you didn’t squeeze around me when it swelled.”
Pedri flushed violently. “Shut up.”
“Couldn’t walk straight this morning,” Ferran added, unhelpfully. “I noticed. Kind of cute, actually.”
“I will murder you.”
Ferran only shrugged, unrepentant. “You can try. But you’ll be the one limping to my room again tonight.”
Pedri shoved him hard, glaring. “You’re not getting near me for a week.”
But his ears were pink. Ferran counted that as a win.
🤍
Pedri had spent the entire morning warm-up pretending Ferran didn’t exist.
No glances. No banter. No soft smiles across drills. Just cool professionalism — the kind that would’ve been believable, if he weren’t also very obviously limping slightly during stretches.
Ferran noticed. Of course he noticed. He had the decency to mostly keep quiet. Right up until just before kickoff, when they crossed paths in the tunnel, and Pedri tried to brush past him like he wasn’t still sore from being stretched around Ferran’s knot two nights ago.
“You’re really not gonna talk to me?” Ferran murmured, low and close, trailing a hand down Pedri’s back like a whisper. “I said I was sorry.”
Pedri didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean in either. “You said you wouldn’t knot me,” he said under his breath. “You promised.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ferran said with a crooked smile. “But you were asking for it.”
Pedri’s glare could’ve melted studs.
“I could barely walk yesterday,” he muttered. “And now I have to play ninety minutes like I wasn’t split open by a horny, lying alpha—“
“Then make a bet,” Ferran cut in smoothly. “If I score—or assisted, you let me make it up to you tonight.”
Pedri scoffed. “If you score, I’ll ignore you harder.”
Ferran leaned in with a glint in his eye. “Fine. Then let’s raise the stakes. If I get a goal or an assist… you have to kiss me in front of the team.”
“No.”
“If I get two, you let me stay the night.”
Pedri rolled his eyes. “You’re not getting two.”
“If I get three…” Ferran paused, a devilish smirk curling his lips. “You reward me however I want.”
That got Pedri’s attention.
He turned his head, eyes narrowing. “You get three, and I’ll think about forgiving you.”
Ferran grinned. “Deal.”
🤍
Three assists.
Three.
The moment the final whistle blew, Ferran didn’t hesitate. He found Pedri immediately — all flushed cheeks and damp curls and quiet — and wrapped his arms around him from behind. One hand slid to his waist, and he pulled him in, grinding just enough to make Pedri stumble forward a step. One leg came up, hooked playfully, claiming him in full view of the cameras.
“Three,” Ferran murmured against his ear, breath hot. “I win.”
Pedri didn’t respond.
Not with words, anyway.
He smiled on how stupid this moment sounds like. Ferran winning their bet on el clasico.
🤍
Pedri tried to retreat to his room quietly after dinner, hoping to disappear before Ferran could corner him.
He almost made it.
Almost.
But Ferran was faster.
Pedri had just closed his door behind him when a knuckle tapped against the wood.
“Open up.”
“No.”
“I score three, Pedri.”
“You assisted three,” Pedri called back, stubborn. “It’s not the same.”
There was a beat of silence. “You let me decide the reward, remember?”
Pedri exhaled. Loud. Annoyed. He opened the door halfway. “Make it quick.”
Ferran didn’t step in. He leaned on the doorframe, cocky and casual, eyes running over him like he wasn’t even trying to hide the hunger.
“You’re still mad,” he said.
Pedri folded his arms, glaring. “You knotted me after I said not to, Ferran.”
“You also came around me and then begged me not to stop.”
Pedri turned red instantly, which only made Ferran grin harder.
“I meant it,” Pedri mumbled.
“I know,” Ferran said gently. “That’s why I’m not asking for it tonight.”
That threw Pedri.
Ferran stepped in now, slow and smooth, letting the door close behind him. “You’re sore. I pushed you. I get it.”
Pedri blinked. “…Then what do you want?”
Ferran smiled and pushed him gently toward the bed.
“Just want you under me. Naked. Maybe squirming a little. But no knot.”
Pedri hesitated. “One orgasm. No more.”
“Two.”
“Ferran.”
“One and a half.”
“…Fine,” Pedri muttered. “But I’m still ignoring you at training tomorrow.”
“Deal,” Ferran whispered, already pulling his shirt over his head. “Long as you don’t ignore me tonight.”
🤍
Pedri didn’t even remember how they got to the bed, only that Ferran’s mouth was already on his throat, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down the line of his neck. Gentle — annoyingly so — like he was trying to be good now.
“Stop acting like you’re being gentle,” Pedri muttered, even as his fingers curled into the bedsheets. “You’re only doing this ‘cause you know I’ll let you.”
Ferran huffed a soft laugh against his skin. “Maybe. But you already hard for me.”
“I’m not—” Pedri gasped as Ferran’s hand slid down, palming him through his shorts.
“Okay. That’s just—shut up.”
“Oh? Should I stop, then?” Ferran teased, fingers tightening. “Since I’m being so unfair.”
Pedri let out a strangled sound, hips bucking into his hand. “Don’t you dare.”
Ferran kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and smug. “Thought so.”
Clothes were peeled off with unhurried efficiency — not urgent. Like Ferran wanted to make a point: that he could be slow. Gentle. But still ruin Pedri just the same.
And Pedri hated how good it felt. He hissed when his back hit the mattress, Ferran’s weight settling above him, skin warm and familiar. One of Ferran’s legs slipped between his, spreading him open just slightly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Pedri mumbled, cheeks burning as Ferran stared down at him with something more than hunger.
“Like what?”
Ferran leaned down, their noses brushing. He swallowed Pedri’s protest in a kiss — not bruising, but deep. Lingered. Pedri’s fingers found Ferran’s shoulders, gripping tight even as he squirmed beneath him.
“Still mad?” Ferran murmured, lips brushing along Pedri’s jaw, then down to his collarbone.
“Mm-hmm,” Pedri hummed, biting his lip when Ferran sucked a mark just above his chest.
“Still ignoring me tomorrow?”
Pedri arched his back as Ferran’s mouth latched onto a nipple, tongue flicking lazily. “Y-you bet.”
Ferran laughed again, low and pleased, fingers dancing down between Pedri’s thighs, slipping one slick finger in.
Pedri gasped, head falling back against the pillows. His thighs twitched.
“You better not—ah—tie me again.”
“No knot,” Ferran promised, another finger joining the first. “But I am going to make you beg a little.”
“I hate you.”
“You moaned that last time too.”
Pedri growled, frustrated and needy, and Ferran grinned like he’d already won.
Ferran pressed in closer, fingers still working Pedri open, slow and steady, until he could feel the tension easing beneath his touch. Pedri was trying so hard not to react — jaw tight, eyes squeezed shut — but his body told the truth.
“You’re clenching,” Ferran murmured, thumb brushing along the inside of Pedri’s thigh. “You sure you don’t want it?”
“I want it,” Pedri bit out. “Just—not the damn knot.”
Ferran leaned in, nosing at the curve of Pedri’s throat, still working his fingers in lazy circles. “No knot. Cross my heart.”
“You don’t have a heart.”
Ferran laughed softly, then pulled his fingers free, slick with lube and warmth. He nudged Pedri’s thighs wider, coaxing him open with slow, guiding touches, then lined himself up and pushed in with a long, careful stroke.
Pedri hissed — part protest, part overwhelmed gasp — one hand goes to Ferran’s hip like he might stop him, but he didn’t. He held him there instead, fingers digging into Ferran’s skin.
“Fuck,” Ferran breathed, head dropping to Pedri’s shoulder as he sank in fully. “You feel—God—”
“Just—shut up and move,” Pedri muttered, though his voice trembled.
Ferran did. He rolled his hips slowly, giving Pedri time to adjust, murmuring soft encouragements against his skin. Pedri didn’t answer, just clung to him tighter, breath catching every time Ferran angled just right.
The room was warm with their breath, quiet but for the slap of skin and the soft, involuntary noises Pedri couldn’t bite back.
“You’re not mad anymore,” Ferran whispered, grinning against Pedri’s neck.
“Still mad,” Pedri said through gritted teeth, but his thighs were wrapped tight around Ferran’s waist, anchoring him close.
“You say that,” Ferran said, thrusting a little deeper, “but you’re squeezing me like—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—you missed me.”
“Ferran!”
Ferran only grinned, kissed him slow, and ground in deeper — right until Pedri broke into a moan and arched into him, surrendering without ever saying a word.
Ferran settled into a rhythm, slow but deep, letting each thrust grind right where it made Pedri jolt. He kept his hands firm on Pedri’s hips, anchoring him in place as he drove in again and again, deliberately avoiding the pace he knew would tip Pedri over.
“You’re doing it on purpose,” Pedri gasped, voice hoarse.
Ferran smiled, lips brushing Pedri’s jaw.
“Doing what?”
“You make this so damn slow.”
“Am I?” Ferran leaned back just enough to look at him, all wicked delight. “I thought you were still mad at me. Figured you didn’t want to come.”
Pedri bared his teeth in frustration, his whole body tense with the need he refused to name. “I swear to God—”
“Say it,” Ferran coaxed, shifting his angle, pushing just a little deeper. “Just one little ‘please,’ and I’ll give it to you.”
Pedri bit his lip hard, fighting it. His hands gripped Ferran’s shoulders now, nails digging in. His cock was flushed and leaking against his belly, twitching with every thrust, but Ferran kept him balanced on the edge, just shy of relief.
“Ferran—” he rasped, hips jerking.
“You’ll feel so good,” Ferran whispered. “I promise. Just ask.”
Pedri turned his face away, scowling at the ceiling. “I hate you.”
“You always say that when you’re about to come,” Ferran murmured with a grin, rolling his hips so slow.
“I’m—” Pedri cut himself off, breath hitching. “Fuck. Fine. Please.”
Ferran stilled. “Please what?”
“Please make me come,” Pedri snapped, voice cracking in the middle, wrecked and half-gasped. “I can’t—just—please, Ferr ah—”
And his plea answered right away.
Ferran’s pace shifted immediately, his restraint snapping. He fucked Pedri in earnest now, thrusts hard and smooth, his hand wrapping around Pedri’s cock to stroke in time. Pedri arched with a choked moan, the coil in his belly winding impossibly tight.
“Good boy,” Ferran breathed, lips brushing over Pedri’s cheek.
And Pedri came with a full-body tremble with that words, gasping Ferran’s name like it hurt. His cock spilled between them, slicking Ferran’s fist and their stomachs, his thighs still trembling around Ferran’s waist.
Even then, Ferran didn’t stop right away. He kept fucking him through it, slower now, drawing out the aftershocks until Pedri whimpered, overfull and shivering, his earlier defiance melted into limp satisfaction.
Ferran caught every twitch, every flutter, watching Pedri unravel beneath him with something close to reverence — even if his hips never stopped moving.
“Fuck, Pepi,” he breathed, voice gone rough, pace stuttering as he chased his own high now. Pedri whimpered under him, overstimulated but pliant, still catching his breath.
“Too much—” he gasped, hands pushing weakly at Ferran’s chest.
“You can take it,” Ferran murmured, dropping kisses across Pedri’s cheek and throat, though his thrusts turned sharper, needier. “You always do.”
Pedri squirmed beneath him, thighs twitching, overstimulation blooming hot and sweet. His fingers clutched at Ferran’s arms without much resistance, not when Ferran was hitting so deep, so right, his cock dragging through the slick mess they’d made.
“You’re milking me, cariño,” Ferran groaned, his voice fractured at the edges. “So fucking tight like this—”
Pedri bit back a moan, chest heaving, too fucked-out to sass him now — though the sulk still tugged at his brows, annoyed even through the haze of pleasure.
“I said no knot—” he managed, breathless.
“I’m not tying you,” Ferran swore, forehead pressed to Pedri’s as his rhythm turned erratic. “But I need—just a little more—”
One hard thrust and then Ferran gasped, hips locking as he spilled inside, his body shuddering with the force of it. He groaned low in his throat, gripping Pedri like he might fly apart if he let go.
Pedri hissed at the warmth spreading inside him but didn’t pull away, just blinked up at the ceiling, still breathing hard.
Ferran slumped down slowly, careful not to crush him, still catching his breath. He brushed damp curls from Pedri’s forehead, pressed a soft kiss there.
“…Still mad?”
Pedri rolled his eyes and shoved at his shoulder. “My ass is gonna be sore for training.”
“Hansi will give us a free day tomorrow,” Ferran whispered against his skin, clearly far too smug.
Pedri didn’t answer — just turned his face away, lips twitching despite himself.
Pedri scowled. “You’ll sleeping on the floor.”
Ferran just laughed, crawling up to kiss him again — and Pedri let him, grudgingly, even as his legs twitched from aftershocks.
🤍
Pedri shoved weakly at Ferran’s chest when he tried to drape himself over him. “Get off. I said you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“You also said I wasn’t allowed to knot you,” Ferran replied, stretching out like a satisfied cat beside him, far too comfortable for someone who’d just broken a promise.
“Exactly,” Pedri muttered, turning away.
“And now I can’t even sit tomorrow without thinking about you.”
Ferran propped himself up on one elbow, tracing lazy fingers along Pedri’s spine. “Not my fault you’re so tight and needy.”
Pedri let out a muffled groan into the pillow, more frustration than embarrassment.
“You’re such a dick.”
“And yet you keep letting me in,” Ferran said innocently, rubbing small circles into the base of Pedri’s back.
Pedri twisted to glare at him, cheeks still pink and lower lip slightly swollen from earlier biting. “That was a one-time slip.”
“And I very clearly said I’d make it up to you.” Ferran leaned in, pressed a kiss to Pedri’s temple. “Besides. I got three assists. That deserves some kind of reward, don’t you think?”
Pedri huffed, crossing his arms. “I said one goal or assist. You overdelivered on purpose.”
“I aim to entertain.” Ferran grinned, unrepentant.
There was a beat of silence, heavy with shared heat and the buzz of lingering adrenaline. Then Pedri said, flatly: “If I limp at training, there’s no sex until we won the league.”
Ferran chuckled, tucking his face into the curve of Pedri’s neck, voice low and teasing. “I’ll carry you anywhere before you stepping on the pitch”
Pedri elbowed him in the ribs, but didn’t push him away. Not really.