Home is where the Heart is
Language English
Fandom Football
Characters Xavi Hernández & Andrés Iniesta
Words 1.007
Summary A normal night for Xavi and Andrés, involving slippery plates, Russian commentators and towel snapping.
Rating PG
Beta'ed No
Disclaimer This is all in my head and in no way meant to be real.
Home is where the Heart is
Xavi handed the last slippery plate to Andrés and pulled the plug out the sink, letting the soapy water drain away. He tried his hands with a towel and started putting the dry dishes away, listening to Andrés’ humming. Their apartment was silent besides the soft thud when Andrés put a plate down on the counter and two glasses clinking together when Xavi put them away.
Xavi smiled, feeling content and at peace as he put the final plate away and closed the cupboard. He cast a quick glance at his watch and he heard Andrés chuckle softly.
“Go, I’ll clean up here.” Andrés made a shooing motion with his hand but Xavi hesitated.
“I should help you.” Xavi mumbled, taking a step towards Andrés but jumping back when the pale man snapped the dishtowel at him.
“Go, your game begins in a minute.” He snapped the dishtowel again and Xavi laughed, darting out of the kitchen and to the living room. He grabbed the remote and sat down on the couch, tapping his foot slightly impatient on the floor as he turned the TV on. It took a few seconds for the images to catch up with the sound and Xavi switched to one of his many foreign football channels, smiling when he heard the Russian commentators still discussing the line-ups.
Zenit playing CSKA Moskva at home always promised an interesting game and as he studies the line-ups, he realised both teams fielded their strongest eleven. He smiled and settled back into the couch, waiting for the kick-off whistle.
The game was five minutes underway when the sounds coming from the kitchen stopped and Xavi saw Andrés appear in the threshold of the kitchen from the corner of his eyes. He glanced over when the pale man didn’t move after a minute to see what his partner was doing.
Andrés was smiling at him, eyes sparkling. He was leaning against the doorpost with his shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and to Xavi, he looked stunning in the soft lighting of their living room. He still wasn’t moving and Xavi arched an eyebrow at him.
“What?” He asked when Andrés just kept on smiling, looking at him and not answering Xavi’s non-verbal question.
“Nothing.” Andrés replied, finally, pushing himself off the post and walked towards the couch. Xavi frowned at him and opened his mouth to ask again when a sharp whistle signal distracted him.
“Oh, come on, ref, that isn’t a foul!” He cried at the TV, waving his arms at the flickering images of the referee. He heard Andrés chuckle softly but he was too busy ranting at the referee under his breath to say something about it.
The pale man picked a book from the table, the cover worn and the pages yellow, and sat down on the couch. Xavi shifted automatically, eyes still trained on the screen, so Andrés could pull his legs up on the couch, his back resting against Xavi’s shoulder. He opened the book at an dog-eared page and Xavi lowered the volume of the TV so the noise wouldn’t bother Andrés too much.
“What game is on?” Andrés asked, craning his neck to look at Xavi.
“Zenit versus CSKA Moskva, the Russian league.” Xavi replied, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.
“Only you.” Andrés chuckled and Xavi shrugged the shoulder Andrés was leaning to jostle him slightly. Andrés chuckled again, the sound reverberating through Xavi’s body, and shifted until he found a comfortable position to read in.
Xavi focused on the game again, the warm weight of Andrés against his shoulder comforting. Sometimes Xavi wondered how Andrés could have such an effect on him. Of all the girlfriends he had had, none of them could calm him down during a football game like Andrés could. Even when they rested against his shoulder, he would still rant at the TV, gesture wildly with his arms and jump up to pace in front of the TV, criticising the team he was supporting when they weren’t playing well.
But with Andrés, he would stay almost motionless as to not jostle Andrés, only moving his free arm if he strongly disagreed with what was happening during the game. He would rant softly under his breath, hardly audible, so Andrés could read in peace.
Andrés had told him once that he would move if he annoyed Xavi. He knew how Xavi watched football, years of experience before they had gotten together, but Xavi had told him to shut up and continue reading if he was comfortable. It wasn’t the most romantic response but one of his teams was losing and well, Andrés knew him well enough to know how grumpy he could get when that happened. His answer had led to a kiss which had led to a making-out session which had ended in Andrés dragging Xavi to their bedroom, the match on TV long forgotten.
A soft sniffling sound pulled Xavi from his thoughts and he realised with a shock that it was already half-time. The TV showed a few commentators discussing the game but another sniffle distracted Xavi just as he was about to focus on the Russians. He looked at Andrés and noticed the minute shaking immediately.
“Andrés, what is wrong?” Xavi asked, concerned, hitting mute to silence the TV.
“Nothing,” Andrés’ voice wavered, sounding as if he was suppressing tears. “It’s just... my book.” He lifted the book to show Xavi and Xavi smiled. He moved slightly, sneaking an arm around Andrés’ waist and resting it on his lower abdomen. His fingers started tracing abstract figures on the fabric of Andrés’ shirt and Andrés snuggled closer to Xavi, borrowing into Xavi’s strong chest.
The shaking had stopped and Andrés moved his arm so it was pressed against Xavi’s arm. Xavi smiled and turned the volume on again, pressing a kiss onto Andrés’ hair, pulling him closer before focusing on the TV again where the second half kicked off.