Pasa al siguiente Nivel

Author: Maria (that's moi)
Rating: still undecided, but I will announce it beforehand, should it change
Category: Humor, Romance
Characters: LFC's finest and additional characters
Length: Long story
Summary: If someone told you that a simple misdialed phone call would change your life, what would you do? Exactly, you'd laugh and say "bring it on!!"
Beta: The lovely Molly_182
Disclaimer: This story is just fiction, not reality. Only the additional characters are figments of my imagination, the rest is borrowed from RL. If there are any discrepancies between the character in this story and RL - I'm sorry but I didn't know any better... EDIT: Despite what you might think, I do not own Fernando Torres or any other footballer mentioned in this story. EDIT 2: The girlfriend which appears in this story IS NOT Olalla Dominguez Liste, but an undisclosed character - the real partner of Fernando Torres is not a public figure and therefore will not be used out of respect.
Authors Notes: This fic is my first attempt at a story with real life people in it, so bear with me, if they seem a bit (or a lot) OOC. Also, the characters will talk in their native language from time to time, but don't worry, there's a vocabulary section at the end of each chapter!

And now, please ENJOY! ;D



CAPITULO UNO

Looking at the young woman in front of him intently with those big, boyish brown eyes of his, he spread his long, slender fingers over the outside of her thighs lightly caressing the skin hidden beneath the material of her dress pants with his thumbs. Slowly inching downwards, his hands, which were far too soft for a man let alone a football player, softly pressed her bent, toned legs against his sides.

Her response was instantaneous, as she wrapped her (in her opinion rather short) legs around his waist, interlocking her feet above the small of his back to secure herself as to not fall flat on her bum if he dropped her (for which there would be hell to pay). Her high heels fell to the floor with a rather loud clank, but neither of them cared all too much about that pricey footwear at that moment.

Content with her actions, her partner in crime (and many, many other things) kissed her deeply, longingly, and dug his fingers into the dip between her thighs and the swell of her backside to lift her up and carry her somewhere far more comfortable than his marble kitchen counter...

Her attention was suddenly drawn back to reality from her aroused state, when she heard him mutter something under his breath against her thoroughly kissed lips in his native language (which definitely wasn't English or very nice for that matter). She leaned back and away from him; their body contact was broken instantly.

"What did you just say?"

Blushing furiously under her expectant gaze, Fernando Torres, Liverpool Football Club's elite striker and Spain’s hailed El Niño who, at the Euro 2008, had shot the one goal that had made a whole country happy and him a national hero, averted his eyes from her gaze and bit his lower lip, but otherwise remained silent.

"So?" she pressed him to repeat what he had just said, emphasizing her question by pulling his blond streaks at the nape of his neck backwards. Sometimes having a soft spot for running one's hand through another one's hair had its advantages (by the way, he had amazingly soft curls, but the colour had yet again become … meh to say the least).

The blush spread even more which almost drowned his myriads of dark freckles in a sea of red, when he mumbled it again, "Eres bastante pesada, nena." This time she understood him perfectly.

A well shaped eyebrow shot up.

"Way to make a girl feel desired, Torres," was her simple, yet sarcastic reply, to which he let his head fall onto her shoulder a little embarrassedly and bit his lower lip again (a habit that he had acquired at school when he wasn’t sure about something; it had had the best effect on female teachers, they had let him get away with almost anything when he had looked at them like that).

He didn’t like her calling him by his last name though (a habit she had acquired when she wanted to get her point across to him and his thick skull loud and clear), it reminded him of the beginnings and that made him feel even worse about what he had just said.

When the had started going out, they had sworn to keep prejudices and petty comments out of their private life and up to now it had worked out pretty well, despite a few little lapses, like this one. The fact that he actually held her up in that very position (she was securely wrapped around him, like a baby koala around its mother) without any noticeable effort on his side was clearly missed by both of them.

Head still bowed, he dared after a minute or so of uncomfortable silence to look up to gauge her reaction. That single, puppy dog look instantly melted her heart - who could ever resist those eyes gazing up at her almost innocently through thick, dark, curly eyelashes? (Again, school had been the best teacher…)

Valerie smiled lightly and kissed his temple lovingly to show him that she wasn't angry with him in any way for that comment, annoyed maybe, but not angry (She would get her revenge later - and both of them knew it). With anyone else, she would have probably begun a serious argument, with the young Spaniard though...

In the media, he was made out to be that extremely focussed player who when provoked had a serious case of bad temper, on and off the pitch.

In reality however, Fernando Jose Torres Sanz was a shy, well mannered, sweet young man, still a boy really, who above all cherished peace and quiet and therefore liked to avoid any form of confrontation in private.

On the pitch it was a different situation, the old saying "what happens on the pitch stays on the pitch" (or was it Vegas? Never mind…) applied to him perfectly. He had a competitive streak and, God forbid, if someone tried to keep him from reaching his goal!

She had seen him yell at Sergio Ramos more times than she could count during the Champion's League matches against Real Madrid in February and March, notwithstanding that he was one of his best and oldest friends in the professional football world. Yet afterwards, it was all forgiven and forgotten and they were best friends again, prepared to cause mischief wherever they went - and they did so with unprecedented glee.

As for her arguing with him, she didn't want to do it, because she would most probably not know when to shut up (she had a feisty character, mind you not to cross her when she was angry!) and hurt that sweet, lovable man in front of her in the process.

He certainly wasn't inferior to her, nor was he all that innocent either, when it came to a good verbal fight and their arguments could quickly lead to deafening (or so Pepe complained more than once) shouting matches.

Afterwards, they would not talk for days. She would feel too guilty for saying some very stupid things and he would just clam up and not talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary until he was coaxed out of his shell by a peace offering (freshly made chocolate brownies with cherries would mostly do the trick).

Sometimes though, it would be him who hurt her by saying something utterly stupid or inconsiderate. Then, he would just not be able to look her in the eye and she would be too angry with him to make the first step and consequently shy away from him, burying herself in her work until he came out of his shell and threw her with a sweet and heartfelt apology.




Fernando stood there with Valerie safely in his strong arms and just savoured the feel of her warm lips against his skin. His steady heartbeat was mingling with hers, both individuals united to one in this embrace of lovers, until her overactive mind decided it was time for her to put her foot in her mouth again.

"You know, Torres, if I'm too heavy for you, you should lay off the chocolate and consider going to the gym more often. Rafa would surely appreciate it." Damn her big mouth, it should just swallow her foot and be done with it but NO, it had other ideas, like always!

She swallowed, a little uncomfortable in her skin now, and braced herself for whatever was to come - considering him and his Spanish passion, it really could come down to anything.

He looked at her like a little puppy, all innocent and wounded, making her feel guilty and her heart melt in the blink of an eye, before he suddenly dropped the act and laughed wholeheartedly – a sound that she loved to hear. It was deep and sonorous and always sincere. "I'll do that, pero solamente sí vienes conmigo, querida mía."

"I'd rather walk," she deadpanned, smirking at him.

His lips widened into a dazzling smile, one he reserved for special occasions of privacy, one only few people, including her, got to see. It was the perfect definition of a smile, with those full lips of his curved upwards in a very cute and alluring way and with the sincerity of it radiating in his big, brown eyes.

Bending his head, he stopped his mouth only millimetres from her left ear, his slightly stubbly cheek grazing her smooth one, tickling it sensually. She had to suppress a sigh of pleasure. "Now, what's so erotic about walking to the bedroom?" he whispered in a deep, husky voice and placed a small kiss on the earlobe, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick the outer shell gently.

His warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of her ear, making her shiver involuntarily which increased when she felt his tongue make contact with said skin again.

Closing her eyes, she sighed contentedly before answering slowly, equally low-voiced: "Who said anything about the bedroom?!"

That comment had him stop abruptly in his motion of peppering her fine jaw line with short, feathery kisses on his way to her lips, and he turned his face to hers in wonder. At that, she grinned cheekily and let go of him, placing her feet firmly on the cold, tiled floor of his kitchen, where they had been placing their used plates into the dishwasher before thy had gotten distracted. Or rather, he had gotten distracted and had just easily pulled her away from her task. Their first real kiss of the evening had developed into something more at lightning speed…




Fernando was still looking at her, asking himself what had gone wrong. Hadn't he been clear enough about his intentions? He had thought that the heavy make-out session in this very kitchen after dinner, which had been cooked by him - no, it wasn't precooked or ordered, the paella had been made with his own hands after an age-old family recipe his mother had dictated him on the phone this afternoon after training -, had made it very clear what he had wanted.

But obviously she had other ideas. Maybe she was tired, he mused while watching her walk languidly away from him, a slight sway in her step, after all a day at the hospital could be really stressful.

Deep in thought and self pity, he almost missed her turning around at the door to the hall and saying slowly: "I'd rather take a hot shower, I suddenly feel rather dirty… what about you?!"

She extended her left hand in invitation.

A grin spread over his entire face, instantly lighting it up with an expression mirroring a child's face on Christmas morning and he happily sauntered over to this extraordinary girl whom he still hadn't figured out completely even after more than nine months of knowing her.

Valerie just laughed and took his big warm had in her small cooler one to let him lead (his definition of lead was her definition of drag) her to the bathroom upstairs...




[9 MONTHS EARLIER....EQUALS SEPTEMBER 2008]

"I can't believe that she would ever do something like that to me!" a deep, extremely enraged voice laced with a foreign lilt sounded over the answering machine.

"Esa puta me engaño and she even dared to deny it at first when I asked her about it! Everyone knew but me and now I look like a complete tarado! How could I ever think that we could stay the same people we had been in Mad..."

The voice went on and on and on about "her" (whoever she was, not that she cared) and just wouldn't let up, explaining everything and nothing during that irrational rant.

Finally, she had had enough.

"Look Sir, I don't know who you are and right now I don't particularly care but however you think I was I'm not, so stop chewing my ear off with your petty problems at six o'clock in the morning!" she all but yelled into her mobile phone, but before she could hang up on him (whoever he was, not that she cared) to go back to her rather cut-short sleep she heard him say, "But it's almost eight..."

Her eyes flew open instantly. Merde, of all days she just had to be late today on her first day of work!!!

The young woman practically jumped out of the confines of her warm and snugly bed and into the shower, getting ready in record time (fifteen minutes give or take). Rummaging around in her suitcases to find something more or less acceptably for her new working place, she eventually put on a pair of light coloured dress pants and a green wrap blouse she didn't even know she had (it was probably her mother's and had coincidentally gone with her to Liverpool).

Checking once again that her hair was in place, she grabbed her mobile and purse and raced out of the company owned apartment to her company owned car. At the sight of it, she sighed exasperatedly. She should have known that the steering wheel would be on the other (the wrong) side, she was in England after all. Sighing again, she got into the car and, looking around, silently thanked God for in-built navigation systems, because she frankly had no idea were to go. It would be difficult enough already to try not to drive on the wrong (the right) side.

The young woman - let's introduce her properly now - was a just turned 24 year-old French girl, alumnus of the prestigious medical faculty of the Université Pierre et Marie Curie in Paris, rather small and of average built (not too thin, not fat, something in between which made her look like a healthy young (not anorexic) woman), with wavy, brunette hair reaching just past her shoulders.

She was someone you would probably pass on the street without really taking notice of (men might have taken a second look at her, but only if their wives or girlfriends weren't looking), if it weren't for her eyes.

Her eyes were almost almond shaped with big, childlike blue-grey irises which would change their colour in accordance to her respective mood. Sometimes they would be wide and bright blue looking at something in utter amazement (or so it seemed), other times they were narrowed to slits, stormy grey, with fiery passion or anger flashing in them.

Heaving one last sigh, the young French decided that she truly didn't have time for driving lessons now, she would just have to pay more attention as to what she was doing (which could prove difficult due to the lack of coffee in her system). She turned the key in the ignition and the little car roared to life…




Driving carefully through the heavy early morning traffic, she eventually spotted a Costa Coffee Shop sign at the end of the road and immediately thanked every deity she could think of. A quick stop by the quaint café later, she could call a big and utterly black coffee (her life elixir and the only thing that got her going after a very short night) and a triple chocolate cookie (not good for the waist line, very good for saving the already badly beginning day) her own happily.

She hadn't had a very good start in this country when she had arrived at the airport from Paris yesterday evening (or was it this morning?!). First, her luggage obviously had thought it might be fun to take a holiday of its own and disappear within the rather small airport (compared to Charles de Gaulle-Roissy, it was nothing). Then the person who had been supposed to pick her up had seemingly deemed it too late and had left, so when she finally arrived at her final destination at two o'clock in the morning, she was tired beyond words, needless to say mightily pissed off.

Luckily enough, she had found a big envelope on the kitchen table with all the necessary information she needed for her first day as well as keys to the BMW Mini she was driving around in at the moment. Said envelope was now sitting securely in her purse, just waiting to be taken out and read or used or whatever else one could actually do with it.

Turning right again, she directed the Mini up a short drive, stopping in front of the heavy iron wrought gates that lead to her new working place. After the guard had checked her credentials, she entered an ample parking lot filled with some of the most expensive and exclusive cars in the world.

She had finally arrived...


Vocab:

Eres bastante pesada – you’re quite heavy

pero solamente sí vienes conmigo – but only if you come with me

Esa puta me engaño – that bitch betrayed me

Tarado – blithering idiot

Merde - Crap



If you liked the beginning, you can read on here:

Pasa al siguiente Nivel - official thread

There you can find pics for fashion, challenges, little side stories and much much more. Enjoy.

wow, that's a great story. You are very talented