Fic: The Toughest Fight of All
Title: The toughest fight of all
Pairing: Raul/Morientes
Rating: G
Word count: 500ish
Disclaimer: You want the truth? Then you might as well stop reading now because this isn't it.
A/N: I don't know where this came from, I just started writing it last night during the Real match ...
Raul opened his bleary eyes, raising his hand to try and silence the drummer that seemed to have taken up residence in his skull. He dragged himself up from the sofa, kicking over the empty bottles as he made his way over towards the kitchen. He hung his head letting his hair fall over his eyes as he leaned on the sink. He tried to ignore the little voices calling him towards the drawer that had been left open just an inch, mockingly tempting. Raul could feel the bottle of vodka calling to him from the drawer, just begging him to pull it out, press it to his lips and let the clear liquid flow down his throat until there wasn't a drop left.
Raul found himself standing in front of the drawer and his hand even reached out, long fingers hooking into the front of the drawer as he began to pull it out before stopping himself. Not today. Yesterday he hadn't been able to resist, the day before he hadn't been strong enough either. But today, he told himself he wasn't going to be that weak. Today he promised himself he wouldn't touch the bottle - not even to get rid of it. That had been his downfall yesterday.
He turned around, forcing himself to look at the room, at the bottles and cans littering the floor, at the crumpled blanket on the sofa, at the blank voids in the dust where Mori's things used to be - before he had left Madrid, before he had left him. His eyes skimmed over the bare spaces to look at the rest of the room as he realised that what hurt the most wasn't the things the striker had taken with him, it was the things he had left behind. The things he didn't need, the things he didn't want. Things like him.
He knew if Guti was there he would have smacked him upside the head and then pulled him into a hug to try and persuade him that he wasn't a forgotten piece of rubbish that wasn't worth Mori's effort. But there wasn't a training session that morning, so Guti wasn't going to be round to pick him up for another few hours. He had to deal with his feelings of worthlessness without any help, and without giving in to temptation.
Temptation was hard to resist though, the vodka was practically singing his name and his shaking fingers edged back towards the handle. Raul snatched his hand back and growled in frustration - it hadn't even been ten minutes and he was already reaching for the drawer. He turned his attention away from the kitchen, pulling himself over towards the hall cupboard. He rummaged through it, pulling out an empty cardboard box and a dusty old rag. He moved over to the window and shook the rag out, probably over the top of some unsuspecting pedestrian, not that he cared - all his effort was focussed on not looking at the kitchen, at that drawer. Taking a deep breath he started to clean up.
Pairing: Raul/Morientes
Rating: G
Word count: 500ish
Disclaimer: You want the truth? Then you might as well stop reading now because this isn't it.
A/N: I don't know where this came from, I just started writing it last night during the Real match ...
Raul opened his bleary eyes, raising his hand to try and silence the drummer that seemed to have taken up residence in his skull. He dragged himself up from the sofa, kicking over the empty bottles as he made his way over towards the kitchen. He hung his head letting his hair fall over his eyes as he leaned on the sink. He tried to ignore the little voices calling him towards the drawer that had been left open just an inch, mockingly tempting. Raul could feel the bottle of vodka calling to him from the drawer, just begging him to pull it out, press it to his lips and let the clear liquid flow down his throat until there wasn't a drop left.
Raul found himself standing in front of the drawer and his hand even reached out, long fingers hooking into the front of the drawer as he began to pull it out before stopping himself. Not today. Yesterday he hadn't been able to resist, the day before he hadn't been strong enough either. But today, he told himself he wasn't going to be that weak. Today he promised himself he wouldn't touch the bottle - not even to get rid of it. That had been his downfall yesterday.
He turned around, forcing himself to look at the room, at the bottles and cans littering the floor, at the crumpled blanket on the sofa, at the blank voids in the dust where Mori's things used to be - before he had left Madrid, before he had left him. His eyes skimmed over the bare spaces to look at the rest of the room as he realised that what hurt the most wasn't the things the striker had taken with him, it was the things he had left behind. The things he didn't need, the things he didn't want. Things like him.
He knew if Guti was there he would have smacked him upside the head and then pulled him into a hug to try and persuade him that he wasn't a forgotten piece of rubbish that wasn't worth Mori's effort. But there wasn't a training session that morning, so Guti wasn't going to be round to pick him up for another few hours. He had to deal with his feelings of worthlessness without any help, and without giving in to temptation.
Temptation was hard to resist though, the vodka was practically singing his name and his shaking fingers edged back towards the handle. Raul snatched his hand back and growled in frustration - it hadn't even been ten minutes and he was already reaching for the drawer. He turned his attention away from the kitchen, pulling himself over towards the hall cupboard. He rummaged through it, pulling out an empty cardboard box and a dusty old rag. He moved over to the window and shook the rag out, probably over the top of some unsuspecting pedestrian, not that he cared - all his effort was focussed on not looking at the kitchen, at that drawer. Taking a deep breath he started to clean up.