Title: Born to Run: Epilogue
Characters: Sergio Ramos, Fernando Torres, Iker Casillas, David Beckham
Rating: NC-17 from here on out just to be safe
Total Word Count: 93,475
Disclaimer: Tragically untrue.
Summary: Tramps like us, baby we were born to run.
Note: Takes place a little over a year and a half after Chapter 29. I’m a sucker for happy endings, what can I say? I love you all. Thank you so much again, from the bottom of my heart.
(
Previous chapters&
sidestories.)
from: Fernando Beckham
to: Sergio Ramos
date: Wed, Apr 10, 2013 at 10:41 AM
subject: three days
hey magic, how goes it? so i get out of this place in three days. i can’t even believe it, really. i know that i haven’t really been talking to you all very much but it’s been kinda hard here. not like. people beating me up and shit, but just. emotional stuff hard. you know? i have a shrink guy i talk to named jeff who’s real nice and a total laid back chill guy and i don’t feel like a fucking freak when i talk to him which is nice too. i haven’t told him anything about davey cause well. some things are okay to keep secret, right?
i guess i’ve just been thinking a lot lately, is all. it’s been a fuckin weird year and a half. i got my GED in here and ive been taking some college courses through the locale community college here in gainesville and who knew? i’m actually kinda fuckin smart, man. HA. i can transfer my credits over to NGTC and take classes when i come back to blairsville. im thinking about going into engineering technology. it seriously freaks me out still to talk about school in a voluntary way, ive just gotta say.
ive been thinkin about my mom a lot. i don’t really know why. i never knew her that good and mostly when i think about her i just picture like. an angel, you know? pretty hair and all those soft lights and long dresses. that’s how davey always talked about her even though i always knew she was sick for most of my life and she probably wasnt as beautiful as he makes her sound.
i still try not to think about daddy. maybe someday, but. not now. i know you understand that. bein in here and having to talk to people about all this shit has made me think of you alot too sergio. about the shit you been threw. i just want to tell you that you can talk about it with me, if you ever want to. i think it would be good for us both. i think that we’re good for each other. weve always helped each other, havent we?
shit, this is getting long enough. i hope everything is good at home and that everybody is happy and safe. write me back and talk to me about home, okay? just tell me stuff. i’ve had a hard couple of days and i just. i really need you guys. send me pictures. tell me things. i love you all.
nando
ps. tell davey that when i get home im going to need a solid week in a room with him. please tell him i said that. and that i love him so much.
Fernando flops down on the bed with a heavy sigh, exhaustion coursing through him so deeply that he’s shaking faintly. He’s got an essay due by 6pm and trash duty on the side of 129 at two o’clock but he can’t help that his eyes fall closed and he’s asleep before he even knows it.
He wakes up an hour later, scratching his hand roughly through his hair that is growing out again from when he had to shave it his second day into juvie only this time it’s his natural honey blonde and it’s all one length, all the way past his chin and showing no signs of letting up. He shuffles back over to the computer room and logs in while he yawns and rubs the sleepy out of his eyes. He refreshes gmail and grins to himself when he sees a reply from Sergio.
Fernando,
If you knew how completely computer-illiterate I am, you would not have charged me with the task of sharing pictures via e-mail. Iker is sitting right here beside me, my patient boy, and is walking me through this entire process with the gentlest of voices. He says hello, by the way.
A lot has changed since you’ve been gone. A lot has changed that we haven’t wanted to tell you about because we didn’t want to ruin the surprise once you got home, but I think it’s only fair that I at least share some teasers with you, just to get you through the next few days. The attached pictures might seem obscure and mysterious, but they’re meant to be! You’re just going to have to see for yourself, alright? =)
We all miss you so much. I promise you that’s not just something that I’m saying just because I’m supposed to say it. I miss you. I miss your energy and your vulnerability and your laugh and your crazy music and your freckles and your love. I think we’re going to have to sit down and all talk when you get home, but I think we’re all going to agree on what will be said. Because I love you all: you and David and Iker. And I really think that the rest of you feel the same way, and... I know it’s not very normal, but I really think we can make this work, the four of us. I’m tired of hiding myself from people because I’m afraid of them or what they can do to hurt me. I trust all three of you implicitly and this has been the happiest year of my life. I literally cannot imagine how much happier I could get, but I know that it will all be surpassed when you come back home. Please get here. We need you to be a whole family.
See you soon.
All my love,
Sergio
--
Friday at 3pm on April 12th is warm, beautifully so. There’s a breeze and the sun is being tender and Fernando is standing in front of the North Georgia Detention Center with a single bag at his side and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s excited and he’s terrified and he doesn’t know what to expect from the rest of his life. He takes a deep breath, feeling the first nauseating waves of a panic attack coming on but that’s when he hears it: the faint rumble of the truck getting closer with each second.
He gasps to himself, his hands shaking even more and he re-adjusts his grip on his backpack, his chest tightening when he finally sees the truck rambling around the corner and into the parking lot. He lets out the tiniest whimper that will never be known by anyone but him and he drops his bags and takes off at a run toward the still-moving truck. He sees Davey there, his beautiful, beautiful brother who seems stronger, more tan, more radiant, more of a man every single day. He hasn’t seen him in two months because of classes and mid-terms and life and he bursts into tears, stupid, stupid little boy tears when he sees Davey slam on the breaks and turn the truck off.
“Chickpea!”
Fernando’s legs are shaking but they carry him the few remaining steps to where Davey is rushing at him and scooping him up, dragging Fernando’s long legs around his body. Fernando sobs in the safety of Davey’s neck, his entire body trembling violently as he clutches and clutches at him.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby boy. I got you. Shh, I got you. You’re comin’ home now. You’re comin’ home.”
Fernando finds himself unable to speak, to return the sentiment or thank him or anything. Relief floods through him like rushes of warm water and he feels weak, boneless. He digs out soft kisses against David’s neck and Fernando feels him groan, feels him pull his body down to drag Fernando against the heated line of his dick in his tight cowboy jeans.
“Boy, you better stop that or we’re never gonna get home.” David laughs, soft and sweet and he pulls back to cup Fernando’s cheek, getting a good look at him. Fernando lets him look his fill and wonders what he’s seeing, wonders if he’s comparing him to how he used to look when he was younger or how he looked the day he left him in the police station parking lot a year and a half ago.
“So beautiful. You’re just so goddamn beautiful, my boy.” David strokes his hair back, that sweet, sweet color that it always used to be and he tucks it behind Fernando’s ears, clearing his face completely so that he can really see him. The piercings are gone and Fernando has gained a few pounds, just enough to put some softness to his cheeks again and some heft to his ass, some thickness to his still-young thighs. David’s grip tightens across Fernando’s ass as he leans forward and presses the palest of kisses to Fernando’s lips, their foreheads resting against each other’s for a long, calm moment. “Let’s get you home.”
--
The getting home part takes a little bit longer than the hour-fifteen it should because Fernando’s mouth zeroes in on Davey’s dick the second they get outside of Hall County and David has to pull over, just pulls right off the highway and cups the back of Fernando’s head and closes his eyes and gives himself over to the soft pink slip of Fernando’s lips and tongue and mouth and throat. He comes straight down that throat, feeling something lock into place then, the final piece of the puzzle. He pants dizzily down at Fernando who’s looking just as at peace himself, licking and sucking David until he’s completely soft and clean and David is shuddering in beautiful pleasure-pain. Fernando tucks him back into his pants, leaning up to kiss the bitter delicious slick into David’s slack mouth.
The drive back to Blairsville through Vogel State Park is quiet and content with Fernando tucked up under David’s arm, eyes closed while he just absorbs it all, the comforting rumble of the truck and soft croon of country on the radio and David, smelling like sweat and Old Spice and sunshine-dried laundry and the only home Fernando has ever known.
--
Fernando stays quiet until they decidedly pass the road that turns off into Iker’s family’s neck of the woods and drive instead toward their own old home. He feels his temperature rise, heat setting up across his neck and cheeks and something cold like fear pulses through his veins. He turns to look up at Davey with big eyes, scared and young and questioning. Davey glances over at him and gives a soft, short laugh at the look on Fernando’s face, a laugh that he tenders with a kiss to Fernando’s forehead.
“Don’t worry, chickpea. You’ll see.”
They start the long drive up toward his Daddy’s house that is now a burned out skeleton of nightmares for Fernando and he starts to breathe quickly, feeling antsy in his own skin and under Davey’s arm and in this truck and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting. That this is all a dream, a horrible, horrible dream and when he looks back over Davey is going to have turned into his father, his Daddy with his angry, cruel face that only looked like something nearing happiness when he was bringing his fist down into Fernando’s soft flesh, flesh that bruised like so many apples under unyielding, malicious hands.
The tears in his eyes are about to spill over when they round the final curve of the driveway and he gasps, struck dumb and silent and immobile. Because this is a dream. It has to be. The house is gone like it was never there and is replaced by flowers, by rows of the most beautiful green that can only be vegetables and there is a hammock--a hammock!--next to his tree, the one that Fernando calls The Giving Tree in his head ever since Sergio told him that--
“Davey. Davey, what.” The tears fall then but their intent is different. He is simply stunned, he’s happy beyond his wildest dreams. A garden. Sergio planted a garden for his tree and gave him a hammock so he could be near it still.
He watches as they drive up past the tree and the hammock, a newly laid gravel road continuing from the old one, a new one that drives right up over where the old house was with no regret. And that’s when he sees it.
It’s not big. It’s modest and it’s just wood stained to be a bit darker but it has a porch and a roof and clotheslines with flannel shirts and jeans and white briefs hanging from them and a little beige 90s model Toyota Camry parked out front.
By the time Fernando looks back over at Davey, Davey has parked next to the Camry and is looking back over at Fernando with a grin so big it has to hurt his face but he still somehow manages to raise his eyebrows expectantly, like he can’t possibly fathom what there is to react to here.
“What is it, babe?”
“This.” Fernando doesn’t finish the thought, just opens the door and walks up to the little house in a daze. There’s a swing on the front porch and a pair of muddy work boots and a cat--a cat!
Fernando rushes toward the cat who is dozing on the porch rail, fat and fluffy and all kinds of brown and caramel and its bright green eyes open and widen when it sees Fernando. It tries to duck from his hands but Fernando is wilier even than cats and he gets a couple of good scratches in, smiling when the cat rubs its face against his hand. David sidles up next to Fernando, smirking as he watches them interact.
“Name’s RJ, after Robert Johnson. Godfather of all good music.” He wraps a lazy arm around Fernando’s shoulders, his smile permanent now. “Iker found him when we were building this place.”
“You.” Fernando turns his attention away from RJ to look up at David and then up at the house, appreciating it in a whole different way now. He runs his hand over the railing, appreciating how sturdy it is. His Davey did this. “Y’all built this?”
“Yeah.” Davey’s face looks a little red and he scratches the back of his neck, shrugging off any compliments that may come his way. “Me’n’Iker. Little Bit did all the detailing, the painting and the scavenging for furniture and knickknacks and plantin’ and all that. Just got it really truly finished about a month ago. Worked our asses off too. We wanted to get it done before you got here. So you had somethin’ real to come home to.” He looks embarrassed still, shy under Fernando’s wide-eyed awe and attention and David reaches over to distractedly scritch at RJ’s head.
Fernando steps up to him, just gazing at him in silence for a long moment before he pushes up onto the tips of his toes, hands coming up to cup David’s face. He kisses him, soft and intent and achingly profound, keeping his mouth just there to speak. “Thank you.”
David rubs at his back, returning the kiss with a shy smile and he shakes his head a little. “Told you I wanted to do this, didn’t I? Our whole lives? I just wanted you to have something, something that’s yours. That’s ours. You know?”
“Stop makin’ out and get your asses in the house!”
Iker’s voice is loud and happy and Fernando’s eyes widen up at Davey. David laughs and swats at Nando’s ass, giving him a gentle shove toward the open screen door. “Get on inside. I’ll get your stuff from the truck.”
Fernando opens the door and steps inside and he just stops, gazing around at it all, at the mismatched couch and two comfy looking chairs, the old quilts and crocheted blankets draped across the backs of them and pillows with country roosters on them and Iker there in the middle of the couch, bare feet on a wood spool coffee table and a grin big and huge and meant just for Fernando. There’s a baseball game on in the background, the Giants and the Cubs. Fernando pounces on him on the couch, straddling him and throwing his arms around his neck and hugging the ever-living shit out of him. Iker laughs and gives just as good as he gets, squeezing at the not-so-thin boy on his lap until they’ve both got it out of their systems. Fernando relaxes against Iker and just sort of lays right there against him, draped over his lap with Iker’s hands, workstrong and chilly from the beer he’s been holding, running up and down his back, lazy as you please. They stay like that for at least ten minutes, the baseball game a comforting background noise to Iker’s slow, even breathing.
“Like your new digs, kid?”
“This place is.” Fernando looks around, seeing little touches of all of them everywhere: climbing plants in the windows, dream catchers swaying in the open breeze just above them, a bookcase overflowing with books of all kinds, a veritable mountain of DVDs shelved methodically and thoughtfully on either side of the good-sized television. Pictures on the walls, some ridiculous (a photo of a kitten in a basket with the words “Lord knows I try!” written above its head), some family photos (Iker in his baseball uniform posing with a bat at eleven years old, David standing in front of the first car he ever fixed up at the shop he used to work at, and the salvaged picture of Fernando from the old house), and some--
“What?!” Fernando bursts out laughing and jumps up from Iker’s lap to hurry over to what looks like a boring cross-stitch sampler in a tacky gold frame on the wall but upon closer inspection he finds that it reads “Homo Sweet Homo” with blue hearts on top and pink ones on the bottom. Iker snorts but he’s grinning as he shakes his head.
“Sergio. He found some kit online and had to order it and make it. He thought you’d like that.”
Fernando touches the glass covering the silly stitched words and his grin is probably just as goofy and love-stricken as it feels. “Where is he?”
“Kitchen.” Iker nods behind the couch and to the right. “Making dinner. Tacos and black beans and rice. Fresh guacamole!”
Fernando walks timidly toward the kitchen, nervous for some reason about seeing Sergio but only because Sergio is so beautiful in his mind, so amazing and beyond anything Fernando has ever known. And he hasn’t seen him in a whole year and a half. He hated the detention center’s rules about family-only visits and no amount of convincing would sway them.
The closer he gets, the more he can hear Sergio singing softly to himself, headphones in his ears and his hips swaying as he sings what is clearly a flamenco song, his voice lifting and falling and aching in all the right places. His hair is quite a bit longer than Fernando’s is, hitting just at his shoulderblades and is a rich, beautiful brown that falls in waves and curls like a dark ocean and Fernando sighs softly to himself, resting against the doorframe and just observing for a minute.
This is clearly Sergio’s domain, a room full of little trinkets and rocks and crystals and racks of spices and bowls of fresh vegetables and fruit and more plants everywhere, most of them herbs in tiny pots along the windowsill. There’s a skillet of spiced beef on the stove and Sergio is making what appears to be pico de gallo, adding cilantro to a bowl of tomatoes and onions and peppers. It smells so good, it all feels so fucking right and comfortable and so immediately like home that tears burn in his eyes once again.
Sergio turns and pauses mid-movement and mid-word, his eyes huge for the split second it takes him to recognize Fernando and he’s yanking off his earphones and throwing his handtowel on the floor and he rushes over to him, throwing his arms around Fernando’s shoulders and they crush against each other, both gasping and whimpering and digging together hard, vainly trying to get closer together.
“You’re home,” Sergio says, simple and probably silly but it’s tearful and it makes Fernando cry all over again and he pushes Sergio back against the sink, his arms shaking with how hard he’s holding him. They don’t let go for a long, long while, until the meat starts to smell like maybe it’s burning a bit and Sergio has to pull away, breathless and eyes shining bright and dark with tears and his smile is huge, more unguarded than Fernando has ever, ever seen him. They kiss then, invasive and hungry and too brief before Sergio has to stir the meat with a whispered series of apologies for it.
“This place is amazing, Sergio.” Fernando wraps his arms around him, holding him from behind and watching him work. “It’s. It’s more than I ever could even dream of. You’re all just so amazing. I just don’t know what to say.” He presses his face to Sergio’s neck, breathing him in and letting his tears soak into his warm skin. He closes his eyes and hears the wind blowing lazy and sunny outside, windchimes just outside the window tinkling every so often. Home, is all he can think. Home. Home.
“We’ve all got our own rooms. Just little rooms so we can have time to ourselves if we want. You know?” Sergio turns the heat down on the beef and takes Fernando’s hand, tugging him down a short hall and opening the door to the first room they come to. “My room.”
There’s a beautiful tapestry serving as a curtain over the small window though it’s tied up in a knot right now to let the breeze in. The walls are the color of cinnamon and there are lamps and curtains and small paintings on the walls, little bursts of color and words written in black Sharpie, poems and single words and quotes and there’s a small laptop closed on the bed, a mattress on the floor covered with soft looking pillows and an old Mexican blanket. His guitar is in the corner and there’s an older looking stereo system and piles and piles of CDs around it on the floor. It smells like church incense and feels so much like Sergio that Fernando aches. More plants, more seashells and birds nests and dream catchers and medicine wheels and just Sergio. Just Sergio.
Sergio smiles at him out of the corner of his eyes and tugs him gently away and down to the next room over, flicking on the light and letting Fernando look in. “Iker’s.”
The walls are iced coffee colored and there’s a good-sized bed on a platform in the corner, some clothes strewn about and a well-used baseball glove tossed onto a chair near the window but the main draw is the big, ancient-looking oak desk in front of a pair of orderly bookshelves. There’s a desktop computer and notebooks and loose paper all over it. Sergio squeezes Fernando’s hand.
“He’s writing a book.”
Fernando’s eyes widen but Sergio just grins at him and tugs him along on the tour. Another light on and Fernando hums his approval softly, feeling warm all over at the sight of this room. “David’s,” Sergio says quietly, letting go of Fernando’s hand so he can walk in.
There’s a queen-sized bed thick with at least three blankets and big, fluffy piles of pillows and all the furniture is dark, a dark wood that goes with the sage green walls and there are little familiar things everywhere, things that have always just been Davey to him, small framed pictures of Fernando at various ages, a football in the corner, a television with a few DVDs stacked on top and a gorgeous bay window that looks out over the creek that the house is built up against. There’s a blanket and a pillow there and a small notebook and Fernando can barely breathe.
“He has a workshed out back, too. He spends most of his time out there lately. He’s been building furniture and selling it at a store in town. Doing pretty well, actually.”
Fernando is quiet, trying to process all of this, any of it. He flounders and false-starts a few times before he can finish a sentence. “What. What about you? And Iker? What are you guys doing?”
“I’m writing songs. Doing a few shows in town at cafes but nothing serious. Taking some art classes at that school you’re going to go to.” He raises his eyebrows excitedly and Fernando grins right back. “Um. My mama is here. She’s.” His eyes blur with tears immediately and Fernando just gapes at him. “Iker. He. He found her. Got ahold of her and she left my dad and came here. She’s. She’s been here ever since. She lives at Iker’s mom’s house and she helps out on the farm and around the house. I’ve.” Sergio swallows hard, hands shaking as he tries to keep it together. “I never thought I’d see her again, you know? And she’s here. She’s just. I see her everyday and we make meals together and she comes to sing with me sometimes and she’s happy and she’s. She’s here, Nando.”
Fernando throws his arms around Sergio’s neck and just holds him silently, just listening to him breathe and feeling his deep-seated happiness, feeling it seep into his own bones. “I’m so happy for you,” he says finally, pulling back to smile at him.
“Thanks.” Sergio looks shy now, sheepish for getting so emotional and he tugs him along to the next door. The rooms are small but there seem to be a lot of them and Fernando realizes that the house is bigger than he initially thought. “Iker’s been coaching Ronnie’s baseball team and he’s having the time of his life. He’s also been working on getting his teaching certificate and he’s subbing at the schools in the time being.”
Sergio opens the last door and Fernando peeks in. He sees his sheets from the old house that David salvaged for him, sees a bookshelf with a few books, a dresser with a couple of photos and a computer on a small desk. “It’s. It’s not much yet. I didn’t want to do it for you. I wanted you to make it what you want. What you need it to be. I want you to make it yours. There’s. There’s a bunch of paint swatches in the top drawer of the desk and 25 colors of sharpies and acrylic paints too. And all your CDs are over there.” He nods over to a similar stereo system to the one that is in Sergio’s own room.
Fernando nods dumbly, no words left in him now. He follows Sergio past one door (“bathroom”) and to the final door that is on the opposite end of the hall as the entranceway. Sergio opens the door and turns the light on and steps into this room, looking almost shy about this one. Fernando glances around and doesn’t see much of anything really, just a massive bed that takes up most of the room and pushed into a corner and covered in pillows and blankets, looking well-used and recently slept in. There’s a pair of jeans on the floor and a pair of cowboy boots tossed into the corner under the window and there are half-used candles on every flat surface. Fernando turns to Sergio with wide eyes, the question obvious.
“This is, um. Our room.” He gestures out at it, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously. “All of ours.”
Fernando gazes around the room again and he sees it differently now, much differently. He feels a heat starting over the surfaces of his skin when he catches the faint scent of sex, boy sex that is so different than boyandgirl sex, the smell of sweat and sandalwood from the candles and oh. Oh. “You. You all have been. Um.”
“Yeah.” Sergio glances around and then back up at Fernando nervously. “We all kind of sleep in here a lot. Or just two of us, if they want. Or whoever. Just.” He takes a deep breath and reaches for Fernando’s hand again. “We wanted this place to be a home, and. And we wanted our own spaces in it, but we also wanted a place where we could be. Together.”
Fernando looks back at Sergio and he’s breathing a little bit harder now. “You mean I could have a fucking orgy in here with you three? Do you realize how fucking hot that is?”
Sergio’s face is hot now with want and an infuriatingly adorable amount of timidity and he nods as he catches Fernando’s eyes. “We all love each other. And this is our haven. Okay? Just for us.”
Fernando feels strong arms wrap around his waist and a hard body press up behind him and he can smell that it’s David. He relaxes back against him, reveling in the firm dig of David’s cock against the small of his back. “You like it?” His voice is gruff, hungry.
“Yeah, it’s. I feel like fuckin’ Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz or somethin’. Only. You know. Gay and with my brother and two other guys that I’m in love with too. But it’s. This is.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sigh, feeling what can only be Iker’s hand carding through his long hair. “This is like a happily ever after thing, isn’t it?”
Iker gives a little snort for that, reaching out for Sergio and tugging him in under his arm even as Fernando leans into his gentle touches. “There’s no such thing as that, Nando, and you know it. We’ve worked damn hard to be happy. I mean. We’ve all fought and sacrificed and worked our fingers bloody to find happiness. To carve it out of the lot we’ve been given. We found it and we just gotta hold onto it with all we’re worth. We’ve earned this happiness. We’ve just gotta learn to trust it and enjoy it.”
Sergio is smiling quietly up at Iker, reaching to thread their fingers together and he kisses his knuckles soft and paying attention to each one. “How about we eat an early dinner and show Nando how soft this new bed is?”
Fernando pulls until David comes with him to the kitchen still attached and he’s grinning so fucking hard that he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. “How about we have dinner in bed and eat tacos off of Magic here instead?”
Fernando can hear Sergio’s indignant little noise for that and Iker’s dark chuckle of agreement and here in the wrap of David’s arms, Fernando secretly knows that he really has gotten his happily ever after.
(
reaction post, click here pleaseee!)