writerverse Challenge #05: Pen to paper
Title: I am as free as my hair (working title!)
Prompt: Kerfuffle
Word Count: 1405
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Football fandom
Pairings (if any): Fernando Torres/Juan Mata
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): none
Summary: One day, their early morning routine spins out of the loop, seeing Fernando in the bathroom and Juan confronted with an unexpected problem.
Link:
Against all speculations, Fernando is not really the one to dwell in the bathroom and Juan loves him all the more for it. At Valencia, he’s had the questionable honour to share a room and bathroom with Villa just that one time too often, making him come to really appreciate someone who only uses the bathroom for a reasonable span of time (especially when they’ve overslept again and every second counts for making it to Cobham on time, after all).
With Juan being wide awake the second he opens his eyes and Fernando only starting to become something closely resembling ‘awake’ after a couple of minutes of snoozing, most of the time it’s Juan slipping out from under the covers first to shower and shave. By the time he’s finished, Fernando has made it into an upright sitting position, his eyes still closed, his hair tousled from sleep.
It’s a heartstoppingly beautiful sight to see, maybe Juan’s favourite thing about having Fernando sleeping over at his. And when Fernando yawns a ‘good morning’ at him, stretching his pale limbs under the early morning sunlight, looking like the epitome of morning glory, Juan can’t help to smile back at him, wondering when again his life had made such a U-turn for the better.
Today is different, though.
Usually Fernando makes it downstairs just in time with Juan finishing with slicing fruits and roasting bacon and eggs, so that all the blonde man has to do is picking up the newspapers outside so Juan can read them over his coffee. But not today. Juan is already done with preparing breakfast, has already quickly scanned the news on the economy and the US election, yet Fernando is nowhere to be seen.
“Fernando? … Are you alright?” Juan calls up the stairways, but only receives a muffled huff coming from upstairs.
Being the good boyfriend that he is (at least tries to be), Juan sets his coffee mug aside and puts the cream cheese and butter back into the fridge before he makes his way upstairs, the scent of coffee filling the whole house by now, even the bathroom he finds Fernando in.
His boyfriend is standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel - not an unpleasant sight at all, Juan duly notices -, frowning at his own reflection. There’s another towel swung around his neck, catching drops of water dripping down from half-dried strands of his hair - the same hair that’s subject to Fernando’s blatant frowning.
“Are you alright?” Juan asks again, at the same time as Fernando mutters something inaudible before turning around to Juan, crossing his arms before his chest. (Being accustomed to Fernando’s body language by now, Juan reads it as what it is, which is ever so self-consciously blocking his own bare stomach from Juan’s eyes.)
“My hair”, is all the answer Juan receives. He shrugs, not quite understanding yet, only sensing Fernando’s apparent discomfort. Fernando rolls his eyes and starts tapping his feet, but stops himself from doing that as soon as he seems to realize what he’s doing. His voice is steadier now, though, as he repeats “My hair!”
Juan checks, double checks, but he can’t find anything wrong about his boyfriend’s hair, at all. It looks the same way it always does - always has, probably -, some wet strands of it clinging to Fernando’s cheekbones, the major part of it in a wet tousled heap right on Fernando’s head.
Just to be absolutely sure, because Juan knows his Fernando and knows his reactions, he takes a few steps into the bathroom until he’s standing right next to his boyfriend and slowly sinks his hands into Fernando’s hair. Juan is so concentrated on what he’s doing, concentrated on finding out what’s supposed to be wrong with Fernando’s hair this morning that could probably distresses him this much, that he doesn’t even realize the way Fernando suddenly looks down at him. No, Juan concentrates and his face is all serious now, lips making a tight line as he runs his fingers through Fernando’s slightly wet hair, smoothing some knots out. He’s surprised at how good it feels and even more surprised when he figures out, somewhere between tugging a strand of it behind Fernando’s ear and running his hands through it all over again, that he’s never done this before.
He still doesn’t see the way Fernando is looking down at him, his eyes growing larger and larger with every second that passes, taking in the change on Juan’s face, the apparent display of joy at what he’s doing. Fernando gasps.
“You … you’re doing it too!”
“What … what is it?”
Fernando just shakes his head, turns back to the mirror and continues to frown.
“There’s nothing wrong with your hair today, Fernando, it’s the same as ever day. I mean it’s perfect. Looks good. … And it feels good, too. Like, really good. … In fact, may I just…”
But Juan is cut off when Fernando backs away from him even more. His boyfriend shakes his head, even more hair falling into his face as he does so.
“I just … why did nobody ever tell me? I mean, I’m seeing you all day every day, I’m seeing so many people all day every day and no one ever told me about …”
“About what, Fernando?”
Fernando looks genuinely uncomfortable now.
“My hair!”
The look on Juan’s face has to be seriously seriously disturbed because, against his usual habits, Fernando hastily continues with an explanation. Or maybe it’s just because the issue is so pressing in his eyes that he feels the immediate need to justify himself in front of Juan. Maybe he’s been listening to himself and realized that he’s not making any sense right now.
“Look, so I wanted to check on a link Raul sent me last night, okay? And somehow I ended up on this crazy site of … I don’t even know. …” he’s stuttering himself into a frenzy now. “And there were all these people commenting … on my hair! I mean, I didn’t even know them! They don’t even know me! … And yet there were all of them, with flow charts following the way my hair looked during the years, comparing what looked better, dropping ‘Despicable me’ references all around and just … I had no idea! … I mean it’s just hair, right? Mine, on top of that. … I didn’t realize that so many people care. … And now you too and I just. … I don’t know what to make out of this.”
Coming to a sudden stop, crossing his arms before his chest even more tightly, Fernando cuts off, stares back into the mirror.
And for a moment there, Juan is utterly at a loss for words. Because this clearly is not something he’s prepared to deal with. Or a situation he has ever envisioned himself to be getting into.
All he can do is stand there in silence, his fingertips still tingling and clearly wanting to touch, the more rational part of his brain signaling him, though, that right about now is just a bad timing for this. Yet he can’t help but feel how a tiny smile cracks his concerned face.
“When you say ‘Despicable me’ references, are we talking …”
“Juan Manuel Mata! Don’t you even go there! … It’s not funny at all …” Fernando interrupts him, full on pouting now. Reacting quicker than Juan ever could, suddenly Fernando is right back in front of him and his eyes are fully opened now, attentively watching Juan. “So … you also think … you like it? … My hair, I mean.”
Juan smiles even wider, carefully twisting his fingers back into the damp, tousled mess as he nods, tugging Fernando closer until their lips are somehow level and aligned for a kiss.
“It’s perfect, Fernando. You really shouldn’t be worried about that. People love you for your hair, I mean it. …”
And before Fernando can say anything else, one more word of protest, Juan is kissing him, his hands tightly buried in the messy heap on top of Fernando’s head, his fingernails only softly scratching Fernando’s head as he works his hands through it. And in between his kisses, Juan lowly pleads with Fernando.
“But now you know … please don’t start taking ages in the bathroom every morning, okay?”
Prompt: Kerfuffle
Word Count: 1405
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Football fandom
Pairings (if any): Fernando Torres/Juan Mata
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): none
Summary: One day, their early morning routine spins out of the loop, seeing Fernando in the bathroom and Juan confronted with an unexpected problem.
Link:
Against all speculations, Fernando is not really the one to dwell in the bathroom and Juan loves him all the more for it. At Valencia, he’s had the questionable honour to share a room and bathroom with Villa just that one time too often, making him come to really appreciate someone who only uses the bathroom for a reasonable span of time (especially when they’ve overslept again and every second counts for making it to Cobham on time, after all).
With Juan being wide awake the second he opens his eyes and Fernando only starting to become something closely resembling ‘awake’ after a couple of minutes of snoozing, most of the time it’s Juan slipping out from under the covers first to shower and shave. By the time he’s finished, Fernando has made it into an upright sitting position, his eyes still closed, his hair tousled from sleep.
It’s a heartstoppingly beautiful sight to see, maybe Juan’s favourite thing about having Fernando sleeping over at his. And when Fernando yawns a ‘good morning’ at him, stretching his pale limbs under the early morning sunlight, looking like the epitome of morning glory, Juan can’t help to smile back at him, wondering when again his life had made such a U-turn for the better.
Today is different, though.
Usually Fernando makes it downstairs just in time with Juan finishing with slicing fruits and roasting bacon and eggs, so that all the blonde man has to do is picking up the newspapers outside so Juan can read them over his coffee. But not today. Juan is already done with preparing breakfast, has already quickly scanned the news on the economy and the US election, yet Fernando is nowhere to be seen.
“Fernando? … Are you alright?” Juan calls up the stairways, but only receives a muffled huff coming from upstairs.
Being the good boyfriend that he is (at least tries to be), Juan sets his coffee mug aside and puts the cream cheese and butter back into the fridge before he makes his way upstairs, the scent of coffee filling the whole house by now, even the bathroom he finds Fernando in.
His boyfriend is standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel - not an unpleasant sight at all, Juan duly notices -, frowning at his own reflection. There’s another towel swung around his neck, catching drops of water dripping down from half-dried strands of his hair - the same hair that’s subject to Fernando’s blatant frowning.
“Are you alright?” Juan asks again, at the same time as Fernando mutters something inaudible before turning around to Juan, crossing his arms before his chest. (Being accustomed to Fernando’s body language by now, Juan reads it as what it is, which is ever so self-consciously blocking his own bare stomach from Juan’s eyes.)
“My hair”, is all the answer Juan receives. He shrugs, not quite understanding yet, only sensing Fernando’s apparent discomfort. Fernando rolls his eyes and starts tapping his feet, but stops himself from doing that as soon as he seems to realize what he’s doing. His voice is steadier now, though, as he repeats “My hair!”
Juan checks, double checks, but he can’t find anything wrong about his boyfriend’s hair, at all. It looks the same way it always does - always has, probably -, some wet strands of it clinging to Fernando’s cheekbones, the major part of it in a wet tousled heap right on Fernando’s head.
Just to be absolutely sure, because Juan knows his Fernando and knows his reactions, he takes a few steps into the bathroom until he’s standing right next to his boyfriend and slowly sinks his hands into Fernando’s hair. Juan is so concentrated on what he’s doing, concentrated on finding out what’s supposed to be wrong with Fernando’s hair this morning that could probably distresses him this much, that he doesn’t even realize the way Fernando suddenly looks down at him. No, Juan concentrates and his face is all serious now, lips making a tight line as he runs his fingers through Fernando’s slightly wet hair, smoothing some knots out. He’s surprised at how good it feels and even more surprised when he figures out, somewhere between tugging a strand of it behind Fernando’s ear and running his hands through it all over again, that he’s never done this before.
He still doesn’t see the way Fernando is looking down at him, his eyes growing larger and larger with every second that passes, taking in the change on Juan’s face, the apparent display of joy at what he’s doing. Fernando gasps.
“You … you’re doing it too!”
“What … what is it?”
Fernando just shakes his head, turns back to the mirror and continues to frown.
“There’s nothing wrong with your hair today, Fernando, it’s the same as ever day. I mean it’s perfect. Looks good. … And it feels good, too. Like, really good. … In fact, may I just…”
But Juan is cut off when Fernando backs away from him even more. His boyfriend shakes his head, even more hair falling into his face as he does so.
“I just … why did nobody ever tell me? I mean, I’m seeing you all day every day, I’m seeing so many people all day every day and no one ever told me about …”
“About what, Fernando?”
Fernando looks genuinely uncomfortable now.
“My hair!”
The look on Juan’s face has to be seriously seriously disturbed because, against his usual habits, Fernando hastily continues with an explanation. Or maybe it’s just because the issue is so pressing in his eyes that he feels the immediate need to justify himself in front of Juan. Maybe he’s been listening to himself and realized that he’s not making any sense right now.
“Look, so I wanted to check on a link Raul sent me last night, okay? And somehow I ended up on this crazy site of … I don’t even know. …” he’s stuttering himself into a frenzy now. “And there were all these people commenting … on my hair! I mean, I didn’t even know them! They don’t even know me! … And yet there were all of them, with flow charts following the way my hair looked during the years, comparing what looked better, dropping ‘Despicable me’ references all around and just … I had no idea! … I mean it’s just hair, right? Mine, on top of that. … I didn’t realize that so many people care. … And now you too and I just. … I don’t know what to make out of this.”
Coming to a sudden stop, crossing his arms before his chest even more tightly, Fernando cuts off, stares back into the mirror.
And for a moment there, Juan is utterly at a loss for words. Because this clearly is not something he’s prepared to deal with. Or a situation he has ever envisioned himself to be getting into.
All he can do is stand there in silence, his fingertips still tingling and clearly wanting to touch, the more rational part of his brain signaling him, though, that right about now is just a bad timing for this. Yet he can’t help but feel how a tiny smile cracks his concerned face.
“When you say ‘Despicable me’ references, are we talking …”
“Juan Manuel Mata! Don’t you even go there! … It’s not funny at all …” Fernando interrupts him, full on pouting now. Reacting quicker than Juan ever could, suddenly Fernando is right back in front of him and his eyes are fully opened now, attentively watching Juan. “So … you also think … you like it? … My hair, I mean.”
Juan smiles even wider, carefully twisting his fingers back into the damp, tousled mess as he nods, tugging Fernando closer until their lips are somehow level and aligned for a kiss.
“It’s perfect, Fernando. You really shouldn’t be worried about that. People love you for your hair, I mean it. …”
And before Fernando can say anything else, one more word of protest, Juan is kissing him, his hands tightly buried in the messy heap on top of Fernando’s head, his fingernails only softly scratching Fernando’s head as he works his hands through it. And in between his kisses, Juan lowly pleads with Fernando.
“But now you know … please don’t start taking ages in the bathroom every morning, okay?”