There is only silence (Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos)
Title: There is only silence
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1010
Disclaimer: Tragically untrue.
Summary: Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now
Notes: I promise I wrote this fic almost entirely before this song came on my iTunes. It's too perfect for them, for this night. For future reference: post-el clásico, November 2010.
Dedication: For Hana (distira). And for all Madridistas. And not for Culés at all.
They couldn't get out of Barcelona fast enough. The flight back had been in utter silence, as had the bus ride back to Valdebebas and their cars. Iker had gotten into Sergio's car without a word and Sergio hadn't even glanced over.
The drive to Sergio's neighborhood is a short one and Madrid seems heavy tonight, thick with disappointment and silent in its judgement. They just hadn't been good enough. When that's the final truth, there's not much more to add.
They leave their bags in the car and head into the house, the jingle of keys and the shuffle of rubber soles on hardwood loud, lonely. Sergio glances at the kitchen, looking over at Iker to see if he wants food, a beer, a shot of whiskey, anything, but Iker continues toward the stairs without a pause, heading up to Sergio's room and Sergio follows with his head down, his throat and chest tight with what he feels is an impending punishment and he doesn't know how much more he can take, especially not from this man, from his man.
Iker doesn't turn on any lights. He steps into the darkness of Sergio's room that feels like the bottom of the sea, heavy black curtains over his windows, ones that push back easily to reveal gauzy white ones, ones that block out every drop of sunlight (or moonlight) if Sergio so chooses, and he does tonight. His bed has been made and he doesn't know by whom. His room smells like the confidence that he left back in Barcelona and he feels pain now and so suddenly that tears burn in his eyes.
"Iker, I--"
"Don't, nene. Just don't."
Sergio sets his jaw and he watches as Iker turns and passes him again but this time it's to close the door, to lock it. He meets Sergio's eyes on the way back but their expression is unreadable. Iker unzips his jacket and peels it off, dropping it on a chair and his shirt follows. Sergio stands awkwardly in the middle of his own bedroom, feeling so young and so very near despair, real panic.
"I'll get up early in the morning. I'll call the club to do the press conference on Wednesday. And tomorrow is when UEFA decide about--"
"Sergio."
"--Me and... and you, too, but... I know you probably don't want to be here. You don't have to stay, Iker. I know tomorrow is her birthday."
Iker pushes his track pants down and kicks them off with his shoes and socks, leaving him in dark grey briefs. His face is shadowed with scruff and painfully tired and pale with discontentment, with too many ghosts. He looks terrifying and unspeakably beautiful.
"I don't care. I don't care, Sese. Come here."
Sergio flickers where he's standing, a little boy at the end of the day, especially on days like this, in front of love like this. His chin trembles as he fumbles with his own jacket and shirt and pants, trying to force his tears away but by the time he looks back up, in his own underwear and about to say something else, Iker is there against him, he's cupping Sergio's cheeks and tugging that face toward his own, his eyes locked and loaded on Sergio's.
"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
Iker shakes his head, pressing firm, soft kisses to Sergio's mouth, hands spreading out and holding his face.
"Don't do this to yourself. Don't keep putting yourself through it. It's over, love. Okay? It's over. I'm not upset with you. Please understand that." Iker wraps his arms around Sergio and pulls him into a hug and Sergio sinks into him in aching relief, trembling finely all over and it's exhaustion and fear and self-loathing and regret and Iker walks them back to the bed, loosening one arm from around Sergio to push at the covers, shoving them back to give himself the room to lay Sergio down there. He presses in against him, the bed creaking the tiniest bit from their weight, from their small movements to get as close together as they can. Iker lifts Sergio's face and his heart constricts when he sees the faint dampness of tears on his cheeks. "Oh, my sweet boy. God, please don't do this."
"You can go, Iker. You don't have to deal with me, I promise. You don't have to do this." Sergio struggles against him but it's weak and short-lived because Iker just tightens his arms around him, his lips sliding over Sergio's face, soaking up the salt with his mouth.
"In this room, we're just people. Okay? We're not Real Madrid, we're not captains. We're not footballers. We're not Spanish, we're not celebrities. We're just you and me. You're just my boy and the man I love, and nothing is ever going to change that."
Sergio watches him with eyes as big as the moon hidden outside, watches as Iker pulls the blankets over them, capturing them in warmth and softness and pulling Sergio into the solidity of his body. They rest their heads on their pillows, their noses nearly touching and their eyes are on each other, the silence different now, still heavy but gentle, with poignancy. Iker's hand cards through Sergio's hair, petting him until Sergio relaxes down into the mattress and his touch, those eyes soft and glowing with light like Iker is used to. He flashes a faint smile, moving forward just the slightest bit to lick a kiss into Sergio's mouth.
"As long as I see that light in your eyes, I'll know everything's going to be alright. Please don't ever lose that, okay?"
Sergio nods solemnly, tangling one of his hands with Iker's and they trap them between their chests, their hearts beating against them. They kiss one more time before Sergio lets his eyes close, finally sighing as Iker pulls him in tight and close, strong arms wrapping around him, Iker's mouth tucking down to press to the top of Sergio's head and they fall asleep just like this, locked and hidden and disconnected from anything outside of this room, anything but each other.
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1010
Disclaimer: Tragically untrue.
Summary: Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
Returning nightmares only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now
Notes: I promise I wrote this fic almost entirely before this song came on my iTunes. It's too perfect for them, for this night. For future reference: post-el clásico, November 2010.
Dedication: For Hana (distira). And for all Madridistas. And not for Culés at all.
They couldn't get out of Barcelona fast enough. The flight back had been in utter silence, as had the bus ride back to Valdebebas and their cars. Iker had gotten into Sergio's car without a word and Sergio hadn't even glanced over.
The drive to Sergio's neighborhood is a short one and Madrid seems heavy tonight, thick with disappointment and silent in its judgement. They just hadn't been good enough. When that's the final truth, there's not much more to add.
They leave their bags in the car and head into the house, the jingle of keys and the shuffle of rubber soles on hardwood loud, lonely. Sergio glances at the kitchen, looking over at Iker to see if he wants food, a beer, a shot of whiskey, anything, but Iker continues toward the stairs without a pause, heading up to Sergio's room and Sergio follows with his head down, his throat and chest tight with what he feels is an impending punishment and he doesn't know how much more he can take, especially not from this man, from his man.
Iker doesn't turn on any lights. He steps into the darkness of Sergio's room that feels like the bottom of the sea, heavy black curtains over his windows, ones that push back easily to reveal gauzy white ones, ones that block out every drop of sunlight (or moonlight) if Sergio so chooses, and he does tonight. His bed has been made and he doesn't know by whom. His room smells like the confidence that he left back in Barcelona and he feels pain now and so suddenly that tears burn in his eyes.
"Iker, I--"
"Don't, nene. Just don't."
Sergio sets his jaw and he watches as Iker turns and passes him again but this time it's to close the door, to lock it. He meets Sergio's eyes on the way back but their expression is unreadable. Iker unzips his jacket and peels it off, dropping it on a chair and his shirt follows. Sergio stands awkwardly in the middle of his own bedroom, feeling so young and so very near despair, real panic.
"I'll get up early in the morning. I'll call the club to do the press conference on Wednesday. And tomorrow is when UEFA decide about--"
"Sergio."
"--Me and... and you, too, but... I know you probably don't want to be here. You don't have to stay, Iker. I know tomorrow is her birthday."
Iker pushes his track pants down and kicks them off with his shoes and socks, leaving him in dark grey briefs. His face is shadowed with scruff and painfully tired and pale with discontentment, with too many ghosts. He looks terrifying and unspeakably beautiful.
"I don't care. I don't care, Sese. Come here."
Sergio flickers where he's standing, a little boy at the end of the day, especially on days like this, in front of love like this. His chin trembles as he fumbles with his own jacket and shirt and pants, trying to force his tears away but by the time he looks back up, in his own underwear and about to say something else, Iker is there against him, he's cupping Sergio's cheeks and tugging that face toward his own, his eyes locked and loaded on Sergio's.
"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
Iker shakes his head, pressing firm, soft kisses to Sergio's mouth, hands spreading out and holding his face.
"Don't do this to yourself. Don't keep putting yourself through it. It's over, love. Okay? It's over. I'm not upset with you. Please understand that." Iker wraps his arms around Sergio and pulls him into a hug and Sergio sinks into him in aching relief, trembling finely all over and it's exhaustion and fear and self-loathing and regret and Iker walks them back to the bed, loosening one arm from around Sergio to push at the covers, shoving them back to give himself the room to lay Sergio down there. He presses in against him, the bed creaking the tiniest bit from their weight, from their small movements to get as close together as they can. Iker lifts Sergio's face and his heart constricts when he sees the faint dampness of tears on his cheeks. "Oh, my sweet boy. God, please don't do this."
"You can go, Iker. You don't have to deal with me, I promise. You don't have to do this." Sergio struggles against him but it's weak and short-lived because Iker just tightens his arms around him, his lips sliding over Sergio's face, soaking up the salt with his mouth.
"In this room, we're just people. Okay? We're not Real Madrid, we're not captains. We're not footballers. We're not Spanish, we're not celebrities. We're just you and me. You're just my boy and the man I love, and nothing is ever going to change that."
Sergio watches him with eyes as big as the moon hidden outside, watches as Iker pulls the blankets over them, capturing them in warmth and softness and pulling Sergio into the solidity of his body. They rest their heads on their pillows, their noses nearly touching and their eyes are on each other, the silence different now, still heavy but gentle, with poignancy. Iker's hand cards through Sergio's hair, petting him until Sergio relaxes down into the mattress and his touch, those eyes soft and glowing with light like Iker is used to. He flashes a faint smile, moving forward just the slightest bit to lick a kiss into Sergio's mouth.
"As long as I see that light in your eyes, I'll know everything's going to be alright. Please don't ever lose that, okay?"
Sergio nods solemnly, tangling one of his hands with Iker's and they trap them between their chests, their hearts beating against them. They kiss one more time before Sergio lets his eyes close, finally sighing as Iker pulls him in tight and close, strong arms wrapping around him, Iker's mouth tucking down to press to the top of Sergio's head and they fall asleep just like this, locked and hidden and disconnected from anything outside of this room, anything but each other.