fic: encara em bull la sang (football rpf)
it's still June on the East Coast. let's go with that.
title: encara em bull la sang
fandom: Football RPF
pairing: Victor Valdes/Andres Iniesta
rating: G
word count: 2000
summary: Andres is the world's least surprising vampire, and Victor is possessive about the strangest things.
notes: this is an expansion of Show Me Your Teeth and the surrounding discussion of how Andres would be a horrifically passive-aggressive vampire. unfortunately I didn't manage to include Iker, but next time! title and cut-text from Vell llop de mar by Els Catarres, which I am currently obsessed with.
In retrospect, it was pretty obvious what Andres was. He was unnaturally fast and strong for such a tiny little kid, his skin stayed the color of skim milk no matter how long he played in the sun, and he never seemed to eat or sleep, but he just looked so fucking helpless all the time that Victor never stopped worrying long enough to really think about it. He was too busy making sure none of the other assholes in the dorm hassled him and slathering sunscreen on his ears and the back of his neck and waking up in the middle of the night because he could hear Andres sniffling in the bunk below him. Looking after a miserable twelve-year-old was a full-time job that didn't leave a lot of leisure for reflection: Victor suddenly had a lot more admiration for his mother.
Things only came to a head years later, when Andres finally moved up to Victor's team, and he realized that Andres didn't just skip meals every now and then: he didn't eat at all. He started collaring Andres so he couldn't slip off when they headed down to the dining hall, but even then he wouldn't eat; he just sat there with a glass of milk watching everyone else devour entire plates full of french fries. At first Victor just felt shitty for not having noticed before, but as the week wore on and Andres' face somehow became even paler and more pinched, the usual low-level concern started to escalate into something that felt a lot like panic. And then, in the crowning moment of the terrible past few days, Andres collapsed at practice. Somewhere between running over from the other side of the pitch where he'd been training with Pepe and the goalkeeping coach and watching one of the trainers carry Andres' limp body off to the locker room, Victor had the fleeting thought that he would probably never have a worry-free day again.
*
Andres didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was in the infirmary; he would recognize the reek of antiseptic and the lingering hint of old blood anywhere. At first, though, he couldn't remember why he was there. He was just so hungry, and Victor smelled so good --
Victor was there, Andres realized, and sat bolt upright on his cot. He immediately regretted it as the room spun nauseatingly in front of him, and had to squeeze his eyes back shut and pray for his stomach to settle. "Victor?" he asked, voice wobbling.
"You little idiot, what the fuck is wrong with you," Victor hissed. He was close enough for Andres to feel the warmth coming off his skin, and he smelled like sweat, like he hadn't had a shower since practice, and Andres could hear his heart beating, so much blood and Andres was so hungry -- "If you were hungry you could have fucking told me instead of giving me a goddamn heart attack fainting in practice, you stupid -- if you pull this shit again I'm going to fucking kill you, you understand? Don't -- don't scare me like that," and Andres could barely think past the pulse in Victor's neck and the prickle of his fangs trying to come out, but he could hear that Victor's voice was wobbling a little, too. "Here," he said, a little calmer, and Andres opened his eyes to see that Victor was holding out a blood bag. "The physio said you should drink this as soon as you woke up, and there's another if you're still hungry, so -- "
Andres wasn't listening anymore; he just sank his fangs straight into the plastic and started drinking. The blood wasn't fresh, and it was still cold and a little congealed from being kept in the refrigerator, but it made the horrible gnawing in the pit of his stomach ease off. He'd drained the entire bag and was halfway through the second before he stopped long enough to think about what he must look like to Victor: a monster in an infirmary bed, sucking down AB+ like the contents of a juicebox.
"Are you still hungry? You should finish that if you can," Victor said, settling beside him on the cot. Andres wasn't starving anymore, and he had no excuse for the way his mouth watered when he caught Victor's scent; he told himself that it was just the disgusting aftertaste of dead blood that made his stomach flip over as Victor brushed his bangs out of his face for him. Victor wasn't food. "I know -- the physio told me it tastes kind of gross for you, but you need to get your platelets up, or something? So if you can make yourself drink the whole thing you should."
Andres stared down at his hands, avoiding looking at Victor's face. He was afraid of what he'd find there. "Are you mad at me?" he finally made himself ask.
"Am I -- you'd better fucking bet I'm mad at you," Victor snapped. "You fucking moron."
"I'm sorry," Andres said. Tears started welling up in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to blink them back. It was stupid to cry; he was already dehydrated and it wasn't like he could just replenish the fluids. It wasn't like crying would make Victor see him a person again instead of a -- "I didn't -- I'm sorry, I can't help it, please don't hate me, I'm sorry -- "
"What the hell are you talking about, I don't hate you," Victor said. His hands were warm on Andres' face, almost gentle as he pushed the hair back from Andres' forehead again, despite the edge in his voice. "Jesus Christ. I'm just fucking pissed that you decided to get all prima donna over how your food tastes and not eat for a week. You have to take better care of yourself, okay? The physio said you could stunt your growth if you're not careful."
"I didn't -- it's not about how it tastes," Andres said, a little indignant at this unexpected and completely unjustified attack. He was perfectly willing to let Victor call him a monster and never speak to him again, because he deserved that, but he wasn't fussy. He knew before coming to Barcelona that it would mean he couldn't drink from his parents whenever he was thirsty anymore, and he'd drunk cold blood, expired blood, even cow blood without a single complaint: he knew how lucky he was to have this chance. "I usually come down to the infirmary for meals, and you kept making me come to the dining hall with you, and -- " He snuck a look up at Victor's face and couldn't say another word, his expression was so horrible. The only time Andres had seen Victor look like that before was the day he'd gotten both sunstroke and food poisoning after a trip to the beach and spent sixteen hours alternately throwing up and trying to nap curled up on the bathroom floor, and by the end of it he wouldn't unlock the door for anyone except Andres because he didn't want them to know he'd been crying.
"You'd rather starve yourself than tell me about this?" Victor asked. He didn't sound angry anymore; he didn't sound anything. There was no inflection in his voice at all. Andres bit his lip, trying to think of a way to explain that wouldn't hurt Victor's feelings. "Do you -- don't you trust me? Andresito, you have to know I'd never -- "
"How can you still call me that?" Andres demanded. "Don't you understand what I am? I drink blood, all right, this came from a person -- " He waved the empty blood bag in the air for emphasis.
"I know," Victor said. "The physio explained when I asked why you fainted. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me earlier. I can feed you, I don't mind. He said it's not good for you to be drinking prepackaged blood all the time anyway."
"I could hurt you! I could kill someone -- "
"They wouldn't let you be at the academy if you were a danger to the other students," Victor pointed out. "Come on. You're making kind of a big deal out of this."
"I'm a vampire," Andres said, despairing. "All right? I'm a monster, I'm -- "
"You're still the kid who cried himself to sleep every night for three months straight because he missed his mom," Victor said prosaically. "You're still my best friend. And you're still -- you know." For the first time since Andres had said the word vampire, he looked uncomfortable. "I still love you. So. Oh, fuck, please don't cry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, just stop -- "
Andres launched himself at Victor, who clearly wasn't expecting anything of the kind judging by the way he awkwardly fumbled Andres half onto his lap before managing to return the hug. Andres' face wound up pressed into the curve of Victor's neck, where he could feel as much as hear the pulse of blood under his mouth. He wasn't even hungry, but his fangs dropped down by instinct before he could stop them, just barely breaking skin. Andres jerked back, looking away. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Victor didn't stop hugging him, so he couldn't get very far. After a moment he tucked his head back down under Victor's chin, this time lower to keep his teeth away from any bare skin. "I meant it, you know," Victor said quietly, one cautious hand rubbing up and down Andres' back. "I don't mind if you drink from me. I don't -- I don't want you to do that with anyone else."
"I never have," Andres said. He didn't think he was imagining the way Victor relaxed just the tiniest bit. "Except my mom and dad. It's not like I have to or anything. I'm not going to just jump on somebody and bite them."
"I didn't think you would. I'm just saying, if you want to. It's okay with me. I want you to."
Andres turned that over in his head. There was a big difference between "it's okay" and "I want you to," but he thought Victor might really mean it. "I'm not hungry right now," he said at last. "But maybe tomorrow? If you still want to. I have to find out how much I can drink without hurting you."
"You're not going to hurt me," Victor scoffed.
"Not if I'm careful," Andres agreed. "So I have to check with the physios first."
"Okay, if it makes you feel better," Victor said. He sounded amused, but the humor was completely gone from his voice a moment later. "But you can't ever let it get this bad again, all right? Promise me. Promise you'll tell me when you need something."
"All right, I promise."
"Even if you don't think I can do anything about it," Victor insisted. "I want to know."
"I promise, the next time I am in danger of passing out from lack of blood, you will be the first to know," Andres said.
"I'd better," Victor muttered. Andres had given up a long time ago on denying that a part of him -- the part that wanted to sink his teeth down over Victor's pulse and bite, the part that kept him awake at night when he couldn't hear a familiar heartbeat -- liked the way Victor liked to keep him close, got edgy sometimes if anyone else got too near. He squirmed for a moment to get more comfortable and then settled down again with a tiny sigh when Victor pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"I promise," he repeated belatedly, any sense of urgency gone. Victor hummed in response, and neither of them said anything else for a long while after that.
*
Once the season started barreling to the finish line Victor had taken keeping an even closer eye than usual on Andres whenever he got a break during practice, so he noticed he was starting to flag before anyone else, even Xavi or Pep. Probably Emili would have noticed sooner, but taking care of Andres was actually Emili's job, and Victor had to fit it in around being the goalkeeper of Barcelona. He had a lot of practice at it, though, and it was easy to pull Andres aside as they headed back to the locker room. "Meet me by your car once you're changed," he said briefly. "You're going to have to drive me home."
"Victor..."
"You promised."
"It's only been a week since the last time," Andres protested. "It's too soon."
"You need it, and I'll live," Victor said. "Wrist or throat?"
He definitely wasn't imagining the way Andres' pupils dilated or how his eyes lingered on Victor's neck for a long moment before he shook it off. "I'm not starving, it can wait until we're at your place."
"Suit yourself," Victor said easily, because graciousness came naturally so long as you were winning. "Go shower, I don't want to sit in a car with you while you stink like this."
"But you'd be okay with me sinking my teeth in you?" Andres teased.
They were standing close enough that Victor could feel the lack of body heat coming off him, despite a long practice in the afternoon sun; it was a simple matter to grab Andres in a headlock and march him down the hall to the locker room. No one even looked up. "Your fangs don't have a smell," he said. "Unlike the rest of you."
"You're an asshole," Andres said cheerfully, and went to take a shower. Victor watched him go, smiling. He was still too pale and a bit hollow-cheeked and half a step slow, but it was nothing a mouthful of fresh blood wouldn't fix, and they could take care of that soon. Andres would be fine, and they were playing well.
There was nothing he needed to worry about.
title: encara em bull la sang
fandom: Football RPF
pairing: Victor Valdes/Andres Iniesta
rating: G
word count: 2000
summary: Andres is the world's least surprising vampire, and Victor is possessive about the strangest things.
notes: this is an expansion of Show Me Your Teeth and the surrounding discussion of how Andres would be a horrifically passive-aggressive vampire. unfortunately I didn't manage to include Iker, but next time! title and cut-text from Vell llop de mar by Els Catarres, which I am currently obsessed with.
In retrospect, it was pretty obvious what Andres was. He was unnaturally fast and strong for such a tiny little kid, his skin stayed the color of skim milk no matter how long he played in the sun, and he never seemed to eat or sleep, but he just looked so fucking helpless all the time that Victor never stopped worrying long enough to really think about it. He was too busy making sure none of the other assholes in the dorm hassled him and slathering sunscreen on his ears and the back of his neck and waking up in the middle of the night because he could hear Andres sniffling in the bunk below him. Looking after a miserable twelve-year-old was a full-time job that didn't leave a lot of leisure for reflection: Victor suddenly had a lot more admiration for his mother.
Things only came to a head years later, when Andres finally moved up to Victor's team, and he realized that Andres didn't just skip meals every now and then: he didn't eat at all. He started collaring Andres so he couldn't slip off when they headed down to the dining hall, but even then he wouldn't eat; he just sat there with a glass of milk watching everyone else devour entire plates full of french fries. At first Victor just felt shitty for not having noticed before, but as the week wore on and Andres' face somehow became even paler and more pinched, the usual low-level concern started to escalate into something that felt a lot like panic. And then, in the crowning moment of the terrible past few days, Andres collapsed at practice. Somewhere between running over from the other side of the pitch where he'd been training with Pepe and the goalkeeping coach and watching one of the trainers carry Andres' limp body off to the locker room, Victor had the fleeting thought that he would probably never have a worry-free day again.
*
Andres didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was in the infirmary; he would recognize the reek of antiseptic and the lingering hint of old blood anywhere. At first, though, he couldn't remember why he was there. He was just so hungry, and Victor smelled so good --
Victor was there, Andres realized, and sat bolt upright on his cot. He immediately regretted it as the room spun nauseatingly in front of him, and had to squeeze his eyes back shut and pray for his stomach to settle. "Victor?" he asked, voice wobbling.
"You little idiot, what the fuck is wrong with you," Victor hissed. He was close enough for Andres to feel the warmth coming off his skin, and he smelled like sweat, like he hadn't had a shower since practice, and Andres could hear his heart beating, so much blood and Andres was so hungry -- "If you were hungry you could have fucking told me instead of giving me a goddamn heart attack fainting in practice, you stupid -- if you pull this shit again I'm going to fucking kill you, you understand? Don't -- don't scare me like that," and Andres could barely think past the pulse in Victor's neck and the prickle of his fangs trying to come out, but he could hear that Victor's voice was wobbling a little, too. "Here," he said, a little calmer, and Andres opened his eyes to see that Victor was holding out a blood bag. "The physio said you should drink this as soon as you woke up, and there's another if you're still hungry, so -- "
Andres wasn't listening anymore; he just sank his fangs straight into the plastic and started drinking. The blood wasn't fresh, and it was still cold and a little congealed from being kept in the refrigerator, but it made the horrible gnawing in the pit of his stomach ease off. He'd drained the entire bag and was halfway through the second before he stopped long enough to think about what he must look like to Victor: a monster in an infirmary bed, sucking down AB+ like the contents of a juicebox.
"Are you still hungry? You should finish that if you can," Victor said, settling beside him on the cot. Andres wasn't starving anymore, and he had no excuse for the way his mouth watered when he caught Victor's scent; he told himself that it was just the disgusting aftertaste of dead blood that made his stomach flip over as Victor brushed his bangs out of his face for him. Victor wasn't food. "I know -- the physio told me it tastes kind of gross for you, but you need to get your platelets up, or something? So if you can make yourself drink the whole thing you should."
Andres stared down at his hands, avoiding looking at Victor's face. He was afraid of what he'd find there. "Are you mad at me?" he finally made himself ask.
"Am I -- you'd better fucking bet I'm mad at you," Victor snapped. "You fucking moron."
"I'm sorry," Andres said. Tears started welling up in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to blink them back. It was stupid to cry; he was already dehydrated and it wasn't like he could just replenish the fluids. It wasn't like crying would make Victor see him a person again instead of a -- "I didn't -- I'm sorry, I can't help it, please don't hate me, I'm sorry -- "
"What the hell are you talking about, I don't hate you," Victor said. His hands were warm on Andres' face, almost gentle as he pushed the hair back from Andres' forehead again, despite the edge in his voice. "Jesus Christ. I'm just fucking pissed that you decided to get all prima donna over how your food tastes and not eat for a week. You have to take better care of yourself, okay? The physio said you could stunt your growth if you're not careful."
"I didn't -- it's not about how it tastes," Andres said, a little indignant at this unexpected and completely unjustified attack. He was perfectly willing to let Victor call him a monster and never speak to him again, because he deserved that, but he wasn't fussy. He knew before coming to Barcelona that it would mean he couldn't drink from his parents whenever he was thirsty anymore, and he'd drunk cold blood, expired blood, even cow blood without a single complaint: he knew how lucky he was to have this chance. "I usually come down to the infirmary for meals, and you kept making me come to the dining hall with you, and -- " He snuck a look up at Victor's face and couldn't say another word, his expression was so horrible. The only time Andres had seen Victor look like that before was the day he'd gotten both sunstroke and food poisoning after a trip to the beach and spent sixteen hours alternately throwing up and trying to nap curled up on the bathroom floor, and by the end of it he wouldn't unlock the door for anyone except Andres because he didn't want them to know he'd been crying.
"You'd rather starve yourself than tell me about this?" Victor asked. He didn't sound angry anymore; he didn't sound anything. There was no inflection in his voice at all. Andres bit his lip, trying to think of a way to explain that wouldn't hurt Victor's feelings. "Do you -- don't you trust me? Andresito, you have to know I'd never -- "
"How can you still call me that?" Andres demanded. "Don't you understand what I am? I drink blood, all right, this came from a person -- " He waved the empty blood bag in the air for emphasis.
"I know," Victor said. "The physio explained when I asked why you fainted. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me earlier. I can feed you, I don't mind. He said it's not good for you to be drinking prepackaged blood all the time anyway."
"I could hurt you! I could kill someone -- "
"They wouldn't let you be at the academy if you were a danger to the other students," Victor pointed out. "Come on. You're making kind of a big deal out of this."
"I'm a vampire," Andres said, despairing. "All right? I'm a monster, I'm -- "
"You're still the kid who cried himself to sleep every night for three months straight because he missed his mom," Victor said prosaically. "You're still my best friend. And you're still -- you know." For the first time since Andres had said the word vampire, he looked uncomfortable. "I still love you. So. Oh, fuck, please don't cry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, just stop -- "
Andres launched himself at Victor, who clearly wasn't expecting anything of the kind judging by the way he awkwardly fumbled Andres half onto his lap before managing to return the hug. Andres' face wound up pressed into the curve of Victor's neck, where he could feel as much as hear the pulse of blood under his mouth. He wasn't even hungry, but his fangs dropped down by instinct before he could stop them, just barely breaking skin. Andres jerked back, looking away. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Victor didn't stop hugging him, so he couldn't get very far. After a moment he tucked his head back down under Victor's chin, this time lower to keep his teeth away from any bare skin. "I meant it, you know," Victor said quietly, one cautious hand rubbing up and down Andres' back. "I don't mind if you drink from me. I don't -- I don't want you to do that with anyone else."
"I never have," Andres said. He didn't think he was imagining the way Victor relaxed just the tiniest bit. "Except my mom and dad. It's not like I have to or anything. I'm not going to just jump on somebody and bite them."
"I didn't think you would. I'm just saying, if you want to. It's okay with me. I want you to."
Andres turned that over in his head. There was a big difference between "it's okay" and "I want you to," but he thought Victor might really mean it. "I'm not hungry right now," he said at last. "But maybe tomorrow? If you still want to. I have to find out how much I can drink without hurting you."
"You're not going to hurt me," Victor scoffed.
"Not if I'm careful," Andres agreed. "So I have to check with the physios first."
"Okay, if it makes you feel better," Victor said. He sounded amused, but the humor was completely gone from his voice a moment later. "But you can't ever let it get this bad again, all right? Promise me. Promise you'll tell me when you need something."
"All right, I promise."
"Even if you don't think I can do anything about it," Victor insisted. "I want to know."
"I promise, the next time I am in danger of passing out from lack of blood, you will be the first to know," Andres said.
"I'd better," Victor muttered. Andres had given up a long time ago on denying that a part of him -- the part that wanted to sink his teeth down over Victor's pulse and bite, the part that kept him awake at night when he couldn't hear a familiar heartbeat -- liked the way Victor liked to keep him close, got edgy sometimes if anyone else got too near. He squirmed for a moment to get more comfortable and then settled down again with a tiny sigh when Victor pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"I promise," he repeated belatedly, any sense of urgency gone. Victor hummed in response, and neither of them said anything else for a long while after that.
*
Once the season started barreling to the finish line Victor had taken keeping an even closer eye than usual on Andres whenever he got a break during practice, so he noticed he was starting to flag before anyone else, even Xavi or Pep. Probably Emili would have noticed sooner, but taking care of Andres was actually Emili's job, and Victor had to fit it in around being the goalkeeper of Barcelona. He had a lot of practice at it, though, and it was easy to pull Andres aside as they headed back to the locker room. "Meet me by your car once you're changed," he said briefly. "You're going to have to drive me home."
"Victor..."
"You promised."
"It's only been a week since the last time," Andres protested. "It's too soon."
"You need it, and I'll live," Victor said. "Wrist or throat?"
He definitely wasn't imagining the way Andres' pupils dilated or how his eyes lingered on Victor's neck for a long moment before he shook it off. "I'm not starving, it can wait until we're at your place."
"Suit yourself," Victor said easily, because graciousness came naturally so long as you were winning. "Go shower, I don't want to sit in a car with you while you stink like this."
"But you'd be okay with me sinking my teeth in you?" Andres teased.
They were standing close enough that Victor could feel the lack of body heat coming off him, despite a long practice in the afternoon sun; it was a simple matter to grab Andres in a headlock and march him down the hall to the locker room. No one even looked up. "Your fangs don't have a smell," he said. "Unlike the rest of you."
"You're an asshole," Andres said cheerfully, and went to take a shower. Victor watched him go, smiling. He was still too pale and a bit hollow-cheeked and half a step slow, but it was nothing a mouthful of fresh blood wouldn't fix, and they could take care of that soon. Andres would be fine, and they were playing well.
There was nothing he needed to worry about.