Fiction: RPS - Cariño (Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos)
title: Cariño
word count: 314ish.
rating: PG
warning(s): RPS, male-with-male-ness, all made up
characters: Fernando Torres, Sergio Ramos (Sergio and Fernando), mentions of Vicente del Bosque
author's note: I don't know. Another iTouch junk writing. Just wanted some lovin' since I don't have any right now. El Niño and The Boy from Sevilla.
Edit: Pfft, so, apparently, I Write Like Stephen King with this one,
- - -
The bandages itched and constricted around his skull as it pounded. He pressed two fingers gently to the injury, winced, and fell back to the moment that the Paraguayan player's leg cracked against his face.
Sergio was fine, medically speaking, and he felt fine, too, besides the constant ache, but when del Bosque confines you to your hotel room, you hold your tongue and comply. Swallowing a few asprin, he spread across the soft red linen, taking in the clean scent. He felt groggy, exhausted when the adrenaline of the victory left him, and closed his eyes. He thought of him home and the flamenco dancer he saw as a kid on the anniversary of Spain's civil war ending.
Home.
A hand glided along his shoulder until it reached his bruised cheek. Sergio heard his name faintly, he recognized that smell, that feather-light touch couldn't be from many people. Blinking away sleep, he saw a freckled face smiling at him, chocolate brown eyes warm and patient, and he couldn't help but smile back.
"Fer, what're you doing back?"
Fernando removed his hand from the other man's face after a moment and shrugged weakly. "Thought I'd come here and keep you company. It wasn't the same, the party." His eyes flickered up to the bandages and his brow furrowed, giving him the appearance that he was older than he was.
"I'm perfectly fine, querido, don't worry." Sergio's words were lost as he leaned in to kiss the striker, just a brushing of lips.
Flipping to lay on his back, he pulled Fernando with him so he'd rest across his chest. Sergio's fingers carded through short brown hair and he could still feel the hair that used to be, those long blond tendrils that he loved to pull and twist.
"Thanks."
Fernando smiled up at the younger footballer and closed his eyes, content, serene, and soon asleep.
word count: 314ish.
rating: PG
warning(s): RPS, male-with-male-ness, all made up
characters: Fernando Torres, Sergio Ramos (Sergio and Fernando), mentions of Vicente del Bosque
author's note: I don't know. Another iTouch junk writing. Just wanted some lovin' since I don't have any right now. El Niño and The Boy from Sevilla.
Edit: Pfft, so, apparently, I Write Like Stephen King with this one,
- - -
The bandages itched and constricted around his skull as it pounded. He pressed two fingers gently to the injury, winced, and fell back to the moment that the Paraguayan player's leg cracked against his face.
Sergio was fine, medically speaking, and he felt fine, too, besides the constant ache, but when del Bosque confines you to your hotel room, you hold your tongue and comply. Swallowing a few asprin, he spread across the soft red linen, taking in the clean scent. He felt groggy, exhausted when the adrenaline of the victory left him, and closed his eyes. He thought of him home and the flamenco dancer he saw as a kid on the anniversary of Spain's civil war ending.
Home.
A hand glided along his shoulder until it reached his bruised cheek. Sergio heard his name faintly, he recognized that smell, that feather-light touch couldn't be from many people. Blinking away sleep, he saw a freckled face smiling at him, chocolate brown eyes warm and patient, and he couldn't help but smile back.
"Fer, what're you doing back?"
Fernando removed his hand from the other man's face after a moment and shrugged weakly. "Thought I'd come here and keep you company. It wasn't the same, the party." His eyes flickered up to the bandages and his brow furrowed, giving him the appearance that he was older than he was.
"I'm perfectly fine, querido, don't worry." Sergio's words were lost as he leaned in to kiss the striker, just a brushing of lips.
Flipping to lay on his back, he pulled Fernando with him so he'd rest across his chest. Sergio's fingers carded through short brown hair and he could still feel the hair that used to be, those long blond tendrils that he loved to pull and twist.
"Thanks."
Fernando smiled up at the younger footballer and closed his eyes, content, serene, and soon asleep.