The Swedish Allstar
The air in Madrid was cooler now. Late autumn.
Andrés Solano had spent most of the season on the road—Shanghai, Tokyo, Paris—and now, finally, a few quiet weeks in his condo overlooking the Retiro. It was his first real pause in months. A time to train lightly. To breathe. To think.
But thinking had become its own trap.
Rory haunted him. Not just the nights they’d spent tangled up in sheets, or the bruised kisses in locker rooms, or even the slow slide of cotton socks across hardwood floors. It was the space in between. The texts that never came. The matches where they didn’t meet. The interviews where they pretended nothing was different.
So when Elias Dahlgren—a Swedish newcomer with an effortless backhand and glacial blue eyes—started hanging around after matches, Andrés let it happen.
He was 21, maybe 22. Blond, pale, tall with a swimmer’s build and an open, disarming smile. He wasn’t like Rory at all. And that was part of the draw.
Elias Dahlgren had burst onto the professional tour just a year earlier, a lanky, soft-spoken Swede with an ice-cold backhand and the kind of effortless charm that made headlines before his game did. Raised in Gothenburg, the son of a ballet dancer and a former hockey player, he carried himself with quiet grace—disciplined, observant, but with flashes of boldness that surfaced in unexpected moments. He had quickly gained a reputation for being hard to read on court and harder to ignore off it, his interviews short, his gaze intense, and his rare smiles oddly disarming.
Elias was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and the smooth, fluid build of someone who’d spent years perfecting control. His blond hair fell just over his forehead in soft, careless waves, and his ice-blue eyes had a calm intensity that could turn piercing in an instant. Beneath his reserved demeanor, there was something quietly magnetic—an elegance in how he moved, how he watched, how he never seemed entirely at ease.
They trained together one morning in Barcelona. Then again at a charity exhibition in Milan. And finally, Elias asked—half-casual, half-bold—“What’s Madrid like in November?”
Andrés said, “Come and find out.”
⸻
It was Saturday night.
Andrés poured the wine slowly, a rich Garnacha that clung to the inside of the glass like blood. The windows were open to the terrace, and the crisp air carried the scent of leaves and something faintly citrusy from the trees below. Inside, his condo was warm—dark wood floors, modern furniture softened by woven throws and worn books.
Elias lounged on the low, grey sofa, legs spread just enough to seem relaxed but composed. He wore dark wash jeans and a forest green cable-knit sweater rolled at the sleeves. His white sneakers were freshly cleaned, pristine. His white ribbed crew socks were pulled high—clean and soft, with a thick texture that creased slightly at the ankle.
Andrés noticed the detail. He always noticed the socks.
He sat down at the other end of the sofa, slower, looser, dressed in black jeans and a cream button-up shirt, slightly wrinkled from the way he’d lounged in it all afternoon. His own sneakers were scuffed white leather—well-loved, worn-in. His socks were a sharp contrast—sleek and thin, navy blue with subtle grey diamonds: argyle, understated, soft at the heel.
They weren’t touching. Not yet.
They sipped the wine slowly, not talking much. A soft jazz record played somewhere in the background, the needle skipping faintly once between tracks. Outside, Madrid glowed like a memory—low lights, old bricks, distant footsteps echoing from the street.
“I like your place,” Elias said at last, voice quieter than before. “It feels… lived-in.”
Andrés smiled. “That’s because I actually live in it.”
Elias laughed, a soft, awkward sound. His foot shifted forward, resting on the ottoman between them. A moment later, Andrés did the same.
Their shoes came off—first Elias, then Andrés.
Two pairs of socked feet rested beside each other on the ottoman. White ribbed cotton next to navy argyle. Young muscle next to lived-in elegance. The sight of it, quiet and strangely intimate, made something shift in the air.
Their feet touched, just slightly. A brush.
Neither moved.
Andrés watched Elias closely. The younger man sipped his wine again, slower now, his eyes flicking between their feet and Andrés’s face.
“Do you always pay this much attention to socks?” Elias asked, smirking.
Andrés gave him a knowing look. “Only when they say something.”
Elias arched an eyebrow. “What do mine say?”
Andrés leaned in slightly. “They say you’re trying to look casual. But you thought about it.”
Elias smiled. “And yours?”
“They say I always think too much.”
There was a beat. Then Elias’s foot moved again—just enough to press, deliberately now, against Andrés’s. A slow graze. Cotton on cotton.
Andrés’s breath hitched.
He set his glass down quietly on the side table. Elias followed.
Their shoulders turned in. The distance shrank.
And then, without ceremony, they kissed.
It was eager, yes—but not reckless. Elias leaned in first, lips parted just enough, eyes half-lidded, waiting. Andrés met him in the middle, the press of mouths soft at first, but blooming quickly into heat.
Their feet stayed where they were—still pressed together on the ottoman. Still warm. Still clothed.
It was oddly grounding, that contact. Domestic. Like they had somehow been here before.
Andrés’s hand found Elias’s jaw. Elias reached for Andrés’s wrist. Their lips moved with urgency now, wine-fueled and electric. And through it all, the feel of cotton socks grazing beneath the table told another story—of comfort, of tension, of curiosity.
Of something not yet defined.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, neither moved far.
Outside, Madrid kept glowing.
Inside, the room had shifted.
The kiss lingered, a slow, smoldering burn that left their lips swollen and their breaths shallow.
Andrés’s hand traced the line of Elias’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the smooth skin, feeling the faint stubble that hinted at the day’s end. Elias’s fingers tightened around Andrés’s wrist, pulling him closer, their bodies now pressed together on the sofa. The warmth between them was electric, a silent promise of what was to come.
Andrés broke the kiss first, his dark eyes locking onto Elias’s icy blue ones. He leaned back slightly, his hand sliding down to cup Elias’s neck, his palm warm against the younger man’s skin. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “we’re still wearing far too many clothes.”
Elias grinned, that disarming smile that always seemed to catch Andrés off guard. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, his tone playful but his gaze intense.
Andrés didn’t respond with words. Instead, he stood, offering his hand to Elias.
The younger man took it without hesitation, letting Andrés pull him to his feet. They were close now, their bodies almost touching, the heat between them undeniable. Andrés’s other hand rested on Elias’s hip, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater.
“Your room?” Elias asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Andrés nodded, leading him down the hallway with a gentle tug. The apartment was quiet except for the sound of their footsteps padding across the hardwood floor. When they reached the bedroom, Andrés turned, his hands sliding up Eliass chest to push the sweater off his shoulders. It fell to the floor in a heap, leaving Elias in just his jeans and those white ribbed socks.
Andrés stepped back, his eyes raking over Elias’s exposed torso. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice tight with desire.
Elias smirked, reaching for the buttons on Andrés’s shirt. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he replied, his fingers working quickly to undo the buttons. Once the shirt was open, he pushed it off Andrés’s shoulders, letting it join the sweater on the floor.
Now it was Andrés’s turn to be exposed, his chest bare and flushed from the heat building between them. He reached for Elias again, pulling him close until their bodies were pressed together once more. His hands slid down to the waistband of Elias’s jeans, his fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper. The denim slid down Elias’s legs, pooling at his ankles alongside his sneakers. He stepped out of them, leaving him in just his white socks and boxers.
Andrés’s breath caught as he took in the sight of Elias standing there, all pale skin and lean muscle. His own jeans followed shortly after, kicked off with less care than either of them would normally show.
They stood there for a moment, a tangle of limbs and heat, before Andrés leaned in, capturing Elias’s lips in another searing kiss. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, their tongues tangling as their hands explored each other’s bodies. Andrés’s mustache brushed against Elias’s upper lip, the sensation sending a shiver down the younger man spine.
Andrés’s hands slid down to grip Elias’s hips, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The feel of their bodies pressed together was intoxicating, the heat of their skin mingling in a way that made Elias’s head spin. He moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Andrés’s shoulders as if to steady himself.
When they finally broke apart, both men were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. “Bed,” Andrés murmured, his voice rough with need.
Elias nodded, letting Andrés guide him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat down slowly, his hands sliding up Andrés’s thighs as he did so.
Andrés followed him down, pressing him into the mattress with his body. Their kisses grew more frantic, more desperate, their hands roaming over every inch of skin they could reach.
Andrés’s mustache grazed Elias’s neck, trailing hot kisses along his jawline and down to the hollow of his throat. Elias arched into the touch, his fingers tangling in Andrés’s hair as he tried to pull him closer. “Andrés,” he breathed, his voice trembling with need.
Andrés didn’t respond with words, instead continuing his exploration of Elias’s body with his mouth and hands. He moved lower, kissing a trail down Elias’s chest and stomach, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Elias’s boxers. When he finally reached his goal, he hooked his fingers into the elastic and slid them down Elias’s legs, leaving him completely exposed except for those damn socks.
Andrés paused for a moment, taking in the sight of Elias lying there, flushed and panting, before leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh. Elias shuddered at the touch, his hands fisting in the sheets as he tried to keep himself grounded.
“Andrés,” he said again, this time a plea laced with desperation.
Andrés didn’t make him wait any longer. He leaned in, his lips closing around Elias with a slow, deliberate precision that made the younger man’s back arch off the bed. His tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, teasing and coaxing, before he took him deeper, his lips forming a tight seal. Elias gasped, his hands tangling in the sheets, his breath hitching with every flick of Andrés’s tongue. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and need that threatened to consume him entirely.
Andrés’s hands gripped Elias’s hips, holding him steady as he worked, his movements unhurried but purposeful. Every stroke of his tongue, every gentle suction, sent shivers up Elias’s spine, his body trembling with the intensity of it. Elias moaned softly, his fingers now gripping Andrés’s hair, not to guide but simply to feel the connection, to ground himself in the moment. The air in the room was thick with heat, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.
When Andrés finally pulled away, Elias was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Andrés looked up at him, his dark eyes heavy with desire, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending another jolt of heat through Elias.
Without waiting for a response, Andrés shifted, his hands sliding up Elias’s thighs as he moved to hover above him. Their faces were inches apart now, their breaths mingling as they locked eyes. Andrés’s mustache brushed against Elias’s cheek as he leaned in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. It was deep and hungry, a silent promise of what was to come.
Elias moaned into the kiss, his hands sliding up Andrés’s back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
Andrés broke the kiss, trailing his lips down Elias’s jaw and neck, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin before he reached the hollow of his throat. Elias arched into the touch, his hands now gripping Andrés’s shoulders as if to anchor himself. “Andrés,” he breathed, his voice trembling with need, the word barely morethan a whisper.
Andrés didn’t respond with words. Instead, he reached down, his fingers curling around the waistband of Elias’s boxers and sliding them off in one smooth motion. The cool air hit Elias’s skin, making him shiver, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Andrés’s body as he pressed closer. Their socks were still on, a small detail that somehow made it all feel more intimate, grounding them in the moment.
As Andrés positioned himself above Elias once more, their eyes met again, a silent understanding passing between them. The anticipation was palpable, the air thick with desire and something deeper, something unspoken. Andrés leaned in, brushing his lips against Elias’s ear. “Ready?” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with promise.
Elias nodded, his breath catching in his throat as he felt Andrés’s body press against his. The weight of him was solid, grounding, yet it ignited a fire that raced through Elias’s veins. Andrés’s lips brushed against his ear again, the soft scratch of his mustache sending shivers down Elias’s spine. “Relax,” Andrés murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against Elias’s skin. It wasn’t just a command—it was a promise, a reassurance that Elias could let go.
Andrés’s hands moved slowly, deliberately, sliding down Elias’s sides before settling on his hips. Their bodies were flush now, every inch of skin touching, the heat between them almost unbearable. Andrés shifted, pressing his forehead against Elias’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. “Look at me,” he said softly, his dark eyes locked onto Elias’s icy blue ones. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Elias’s heart race, a quiet demand that spoke volumes.
Elias didn’t look away. He couldn’t. The connection between them was electric, a pull that felt as natural as it did overwhelming. Andrés’s mustache brushed against his cheek as he leaned in, capturing Elias’s lips in a deep, unhurried kiss. It was different from the others—softer, more deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. Elias moaned softly into the kiss, his hands sliding up Andrés’s back, fingers tracing the muscle and sinew beneath his skin.
Andrés broke the kiss slowly, trailing his lips down Elias’s jaw and neck once more. His mustache tickled the sensitive skin, teasing and tantalizing, before he reached the hollow of Elias’s throat. He lingered there for a moment, sucking gently, leaving a mark that made Elias arch into the touch. “Andrés,” Elias whispered, his voice trembling with need. It wasn’t just a plea—it was an acknowledgment of the inevitability of what was coming.
Andrés’s hands tightened on Elias’s hips as he positioned himself more firmly between Elias’s legs. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, every nerve in Elias’s body on edge. Andrés’s eyes bore into his once more, searching for any hesitation, but finding none. “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
Elias nodded again, wordless this time, his body already yielding to Andrés’s touch. The air between them crackled with heat, the room silent except for their ragged breaths. Andrés moved slowly, his body pressing closer, their connection deepening. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and something deeper that Elias couldn’t quite name. He clung to Andrés, his fingers digging into the older man’s shoulders as the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them.
The moment stretched, suspended in time, as Andrés began to move. Each motion was deliberate, each touch purposeful, building to something inevitable—something neither of them could—or wanted to—resist. His thrusts were slow at first, almost teasing, as if he were savoring every inch of connection between them. Elias gasped, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, his body arching into Andrés’s with a need he couldn’t suppress. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and heat that made his head swim.
Andrés leaned down, his mustache brushing against Elias’s neck as he left a trail of kisses along his collarbone. “Relax,” he murmured again, his voice low and steady, a command laced with tenderness. Elias tried to obey, letting his muscles loosen under Andrés’s guidance, but the intensity of the moment made it nearly impossible. Every movement sent sparks through him, every touch ignited something deeper, something primal. Andrés’s hands slid up Elias’s sides, fingers splaying across his ribs, grounding him even as the world seemed to tilt.
The pace quickened gradually, Andrés’s rhythm becoming more insistent, more focused. His breath came in short, ragged bursts against Elias’s skin, his mustache tickling as it brushed against the younger man’s jaw. Elias clung to him, his fingers digging into Andrés’s back as he tried to keep himself anchored. The room was filled with the sounds of their breaths mingling, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional muffled groan that escaped Elias’s lips.
Andrés’s hand slid down to grip Elias’s hip, holding him steady as he thrust deeper, each movement calculated to draw out the maximum pleasure. Elias’s body responded eagerly, every nerve alight with sensation. “Andrés,” he breathed, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and awe. It wasn’t just a plea—it was an acknowledgment of the raw power of what they were sharing, something that went beyond words.
The tension between them coiled tighter with every second, a relentless, searing burn that threatened to engulf them both. Andrés’s movements grew more urgent, his rhythm escalating, each thrust deeper, more deliberate, pushing Elias closer to the edge. His control wavered, not completely lost but fraying at the edges, revealing the raw, unfiltered depth of his desire. Elias could feel it in the way Andrés’s body trembled against his, in the way his breath hitched, sharp and uneven. He could see it in the darkening of Andrés’s eyes, in the way his jaw clenched with every motion, as if he were holding onto the last shreds of restraint.
It was intoxicating, Elias thought, his mind spinning. To see Andrés—composed, disciplined, always in control—come undone like this? Because of him? The realization sent a surge of heat through him, amplifying the pleasure already coursing through his veins. His fingers dug harder into Andrés’s back, nails leaving faint marks as he clung to him, desperate for more.
Andrés’s mustache grazed Elias’s neck, rough yet gentle, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re incredible,” Andrés murmured, his voice low and gravelly, barely audible over the sound of their ragged breaths. The words sent a jolt through Elias, intensifying the ache building inside him.
The pace quickened, no longer slow and deliberate but urgent, almost frantic. Elias gasped, his back arching off the bed as he tried to meet Andrés’s every movement. The room filled with the sounds of their passion—the rhythmic creak of the bed, the slap of skin against skin, the muffled groans that neither of them could suppress. Each thrust drove Elias higher, closer to the brink, until he felt like he might shatter from the sheer intensity of it.
Andrés’s hands tightened on his hips, holding him steady as he pushed deeper, his rhythm unrelenting. Elias’s vision blurred, his body alight with sensation, every nerve on fire. “Andrés,” he choked out, his voice breaking, a plea and a prayer all at once. But Andrés didn’t falter. His eyes locked onto Elias’s, dark and fierce, filled with a hunger that mirrored Elias’s own.
The crescendo built, an unstoppable force that neither of them could hold back. Andrés’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, his body tensing as he poured every ounce of himself into each movement. Elias felt it too—the tightening in his gut, the electric current racing through him, threatening to consume him entirely.
And then, with one final, shuddering thrust, they both fell over the edge together. The world seemed to stop, everything narrowing to this singular moment of raw, unfiltered ecstasy. Elias cried out, his body convulsing as the waves of pleasure crashed over him. Andrés followed, his head dropping to Elias’s shoulder as he let go completely, his body trembling with the force of his release.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—breathless, tangled together, their hearts pounding in unison. The heat between them lingered, a warm afterglow that wrapped around them like a blanket. Slowly, Andrés shifted, his arms wrapping around Elias as they lay there, spent and sated, the world outside their room forgotten.
