quick moment
(spicy september writing challenge — day 16) (keep in mind I’m not usually a smut writer)
⪼ pairing: needy!gavi x needy!reader
⪼ summary: Caught in the heat of the moment, you and Gavi can’t be bothered with undressing—just tugging clothes aside, desperate to feel each other, and giving in to the kind of quick release before his game that leaves you both breathless.
⪼ genre: smut
⪼ warning: explicit smut (p in v) • quickie sex • clothes pulled aside • rough/urgent pace • public risk element (hallway), • desperation • messy kisses • swearing.
⪼ wc / cc: 476 words / 2,797 char.
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It was supposed to be a quick good luck kiss before his match. Just a moment in the quiet, abandoned corridor beneath the stadium, far from the locker room, far from curious eyes.
But the second your lips touched, Pablo lost all restraint.
His hands gripped your waist, dragging you back against the cold concrete wall, his body pressed hard against yours. The sounds of the crowd were faint, muffled through the thick walls, but here it was just the two of you—and the rapid thud of his heartbeat hammering against your chest.
“Pablo—” you gasped, as his mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, teeth scraping your skin. “You have a game—”
“Que se joda el juego,” he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His hips ground into you, and you felt how hard he already was, straining against his shorts. “I need you. Right now.”
You barely had time to respond before his hands shoved your skirt up, underwear tugged to the side with frantic urgency. His own game shorts were yanked down just far enough, cock springing free, red and leaking. The sight made your pulse race.
“Here,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck, guiding him forward.
Pablo groaned low, lining himself up and pushing in with one desperate thrust. The stretch was sharp, overwhelming, and your cry echoed faintly against the empty walls. He swallowed the sound with a messy kiss, already setting a frantic rhythm.
Clothes still clung to your bodies, bunched around hips and thighs, every movement harsh and hurried. His hands dug into your skin—one clamped on your thigh to hold you open, the other braced against the wall beside your head as he fucked into you.
“God—you feel so good,” he gasped, forehead pressed against yours. “So tight—I can’t—fuck, I’m not gonna last—Mierda”
The roughness, the urgency, the sheer wrongness of doing this minutes before his match—it all made your body burn hotter. You clung to him, nails raking down his back through his jersey, muffling your moans against his shoulder as your climax rushed over you.
Your release triggered his own—Pablo shuddered, hips jerking hard as he spilled deep inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.
For a moment, the only sound was your mingled gasps, echoing faintly in the forgotten hall. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, lips brushing yours in quick, shaky kisses as he tried to catch his breath.
Then, reluctantly, he pulled out, tucking himself back into his shorts, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen. You adjusted your skirt with trembling fingers, still trying to process what had just happened.
Pablo smirked, giving you one last kiss that lingered longer than it should have. “Best pre-game ritual ever,” he whispered, before jogging off toward the locker room—leaving you weak-kneed against the wall, your body still thrumming with him.
