Fiction: RPS - On the Sheets (Higuain/Garay)
title: On the Sheets
word count: 424
rating: PG
warning(s): slash, none
characters: Gonzalo Higuaín, Ezequiel Garay
author's note: This was promised... a while ago. But I'm negligent and this pairing has been evading me, especially intimacy-wise. Yeesh. But I still love 'em, nonetheless, still my Argentine boys. For july_v, like most of my Higuaín/Garay writings are.
Cross-posted at sekremanti and footiefic for good measure.
- - -
He had lost the few press members that didn’t get to speak to him in the airport two blocks back and as he opened the door and slipped into the warm building, he was glad that he didn’t have all the same fame Ronaldo had.
“Eze?” he whispered but he doesn’t expect an answer. Ezequiel should be out enjoying himself, making himself look good with a cute girlfriend and friends. Setting his keys on the table next to the door, Gonzalo walked into the empty home.
It was definitely a home. It was a place he loved to be, always wanted to be, especially when Ezequiel was there. Every time he came over, he’d leave something of his, something small, until eventually, he’d practically helped decorate the place. He touched a trinket on the wall, a bell that size of his thumb, and listened to it chime as he continued on his route. There was a picture of Ezequiel’s family on the wall in the hallway, a gathering in front of their house in Argentina. Gonzalo was in the picture, it was insisted by most of the other people there so he couldn’t really be humble and say no; he stood next to Mama and they both had on ear-to-ear grins.
He pushed the door of the bedroom open and stepped in with familiarity. Usually, he didn’t go in alone. There was one time he could remember that he came in alone and that was to surprise Ezequiel for his birthday, but that time he wasn’t clothed. Kneeling onto the mattress, Gonzalo crawled to the headboard of the bed, humming softly to himself. He pressed his face into one of the pillows, the one Ezequiel used, the one he had left, and took in the scent. He knew it well, he thought of it when he was away but he couldn’t get it right across the ocean. Eyes closed, Gonzalo settled onto the bed, kicked off his shoes and curled into the blankets.
A warm presence shifted the bed a bit and closed in behind him, an arm snaking around his waist and a cold cheek resting on the back of his neck.
“Welcome home,” Ezequiel said quietly.
Gonzalo slipped his fingers in between his and squeezed. He really was home. Home was where Ezequiel was, where he felt happy, even felt angry and sad, where he knew there was always open arms for him.
“It’s good to be home. Back to you.”
And they laid there, in the sheets, together, silent and soft.
word count: 424
rating: PG
warning(s): slash, none
characters: Gonzalo Higuaín, Ezequiel Garay
author's note: This was promised... a while ago. But I'm negligent and this pairing has been evading me, especially intimacy-wise. Yeesh. But I still love 'em, nonetheless, still my Argentine boys. For july_v, like most of my Higuaín/Garay writings are.
Cross-posted at sekremanti and footiefic for good measure.
- - -
He had lost the few press members that didn’t get to speak to him in the airport two blocks back and as he opened the door and slipped into the warm building, he was glad that he didn’t have all the same fame Ronaldo had.
“Eze?” he whispered but he doesn’t expect an answer. Ezequiel should be out enjoying himself, making himself look good with a cute girlfriend and friends. Setting his keys on the table next to the door, Gonzalo walked into the empty home.
It was definitely a home. It was a place he loved to be, always wanted to be, especially when Ezequiel was there. Every time he came over, he’d leave something of his, something small, until eventually, he’d practically helped decorate the place. He touched a trinket on the wall, a bell that size of his thumb, and listened to it chime as he continued on his route. There was a picture of Ezequiel’s family on the wall in the hallway, a gathering in front of their house in Argentina. Gonzalo was in the picture, it was insisted by most of the other people there so he couldn’t really be humble and say no; he stood next to Mama and they both had on ear-to-ear grins.
He pushed the door of the bedroom open and stepped in with familiarity. Usually, he didn’t go in alone. There was one time he could remember that he came in alone and that was to surprise Ezequiel for his birthday, but that time he wasn’t clothed. Kneeling onto the mattress, Gonzalo crawled to the headboard of the bed, humming softly to himself. He pressed his face into one of the pillows, the one Ezequiel used, the one he had left, and took in the scent. He knew it well, he thought of it when he was away but he couldn’t get it right across the ocean. Eyes closed, Gonzalo settled onto the bed, kicked off his shoes and curled into the blankets.
A warm presence shifted the bed a bit and closed in behind him, an arm snaking around his waist and a cold cheek resting on the back of his neck.
“Welcome home,” Ezequiel said quietly.
Gonzalo slipped his fingers in between his and squeezed. He really was home. Home was where Ezequiel was, where he felt happy, even felt angry and sad, where he knew there was always open arms for him.
“It’s good to be home. Back to you.”
And they laid there, in the sheets, together, silent and soft.