One Day
Language English
Fandom Football
Characters Gorka Iraizoz & Iker Muniain
Words 443
Summary A slow and lazy Sunday afternoon
Rating PG-13
Beta'ed No
Disclaimer This is all in my head and in no way meant to be real.
Note This is me ignoring Wednesday happened
One Day
It was a slow and lazy Sunday afternoon. Rain clattered against the windows, a rhythmic sound that was soothing and relaxing. Songs drifted from the radio speakers, soft and slow, mostly a guitar strumming along with the lyrics.
Gorka was lounging on his couch, glasses perched on his nose and a book between his hands. He was dressed in black sweats and a simple white T-shirt, his hair a bit of a mess.
It was a rare free day for him and the rest of the team and he wanted to enjoy it to the fullest, resting after a tough match the day before. Just spending the day on the couch, reading and a simple dinner later in the evening.
A soft noise from the stairway made him look up, smiling as he saw Iker standing at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a set of the keeper’s clothes. The grey shirt hung past his hips, falling halfway down his thighs. The sweatpants’ strings must have been drawn as far as they could to keep the pants on the striker’s hips, the ends pooling around Iker’s ankles. He was sleepily rubbing in his eyes, yawning, blond hair a mess, not styled and sticking up in weird angles.
“Morning.” Iker yawned again, voice gruff from sleep. He shuffled through the room, careful not to trip over the too big sweats and settled next to Gorka on the couch. The keeper reached out, wrapping an arm around the blond and pulled him closer to him so Iker was a warm weight against his side.
“Morning? Afternoon you mean.” The striker pulled his legs up, curling up against the keeper and letting his head rest on a strong shoulder.
“Did I sleep that long?” He mumbled, brown eyes blinking tired at Gorka. The older man hummed “uhu” before tangling a hand in the short blond hair to angle the striker’s head, pressing a lingering kiss to slightly dry lips. Iker responded, bringing a hand up to cup Gorka’s cheek.
They broke apart after a few minutes of soft kisses, Iker cuddling up to Gorka again.
“Read to me?” He asked, aiming big brown eyes at the keeper.
“Lazy ass.” Gorka scoffed but still dog-eared the page he was reading to go back to the first chapter. He cleared his throat, looking down at Iker and started to speak. His deep voice filled the room, creating a strange harmony with the songs from the radio and the clattering of the rain. The striker sighed happily, eyes closed, his hand resting on top of the keeper’s rumbling chest as the vibrations lulled him back to sleep.