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Title: Four Times Alvaro Doesn't Realize What Raul Means to Him and the One Time He Does He is Drunk
Pairing: Alvaro Arbeloa/Raúl Albiol
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Written for footballverse season four. Prompt: five things
i.
When he hears a pssst! for the third time in just minutes, Alvaro lets out an annoyed sigh before shuffling around in bed to turn on the light in between his and Raúl’s bed.
“What is it, Chori?”
Raúl is already leaning up onto an elbow, his caterpillar like eyebrows furrowed. “Are you not nervous for the match tomorrow at all?”
He’s known of Raúl, of course he has but this tournament - Europe Championship - is the first time he’s ever gotten to know him and Alvaro can’t say it’s been a complete pleasure.
“Of course I am but I am also very sleepy so if you wouldn’t mind...”
“I mean, it’s the quarterfinals tomorrow! That’s a big fucking deal, Alvi! Do you think I’ll play?”
Alvaro snorts. “Of course not, just like I won’t. Now go to sleep.” He goes to turn out the light when Raúl makes a noise that prevents him from doing so. He sighs again. “What, Chori?”
“I’m so happy to be here, to have this chance but... Doesn’t it suck? To not play?”
Raúl’s confused, innocent, hurt expression softens Alvaro’s reserve a little. He pushes the covers to the side as he sits up, his body swinging to the edge of the bed. He frowns though he tries to keep his face neutral and understanding.
“Of course it does... but you never know, right? You just have to wait your turn.”
“What if it never comes?”
The genuine despair catches Alvaro off guard and he all but trips over the sheets as he makes his way over to Raúl’s bed. He sits down next to him, resting a hand between their bodies against the mattress.
“You can’t think like that, Chori. You’re here for a reason.”
“What’s that?” Raúl looks down, no longer wanting Alvaro to see how deep his insecurities really run. “Alicia’s pregnant right now. I could be home with her. I should be home with her.”
Alvaro doesn’t think about it as he slides closer and cups Raúl’s cheek, gently caressing the soft stubble with his thumb.
“You belong here, Raúl.”
The soft use of his name has Raúl looking up, his eyes open and trusting. He lets out a soft laugh as he covers Alvaro’s hand with his own.
“Thanks, Alvi. I’ll let you sleep now.”
ii.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“What’s wrong, Chori?”
Raúl rushes out into the locker room. He has a look of pure panick on his face. “Fuck!”
“Raúl?”
“My last contact lens ripped! What the fuck am I going to use?! El mister said I’m starting! I can’t play if I can’t see! Fuck!”
If this was just a regular league match or training or just anywhere else, Alvaro would laugh and tell him too bad. But they are in the semi finals of Euro Championship. There is no hesitation by him.
“Take mine.”
“What?”
“I carry spares in my bag. Hang on.” Alvaro dives into his bag that sits on the floor next to his feet. He quickly fishes through his bag and produces two brand new contact lens. “Here.”
“What? I can’t use these.”
Alvaro shoves the lens into his hands. “Of course you can. You’re going to start and you need to see to play.”
Raúl still looks reluctant though for some reason but then he closes his fingers over the tiny containers. He leans in and places a light kiss to both of Alvaro’s cheeks.
“You are an amazing man Alvi.”
Alvaro just laughs it off. “Yeah yeah.”
iii.
It happens so quickly that Alvaro can’t remember why he’s flat on his ass, clutching his ears.
“Fuck, Chori!”
Raúl - of course - just laughs like a maniac, like it’s the funniest thing in the entire world. The fact that he’s holding a huge horn-like thing in his hand is very normal.
“It’s awesome, no? It’s called a vuvuzela or something. I’m going to take a bunch home.”
Alvaro dusts off his ass as he gets up from ground, a look of irritation marring his usually pleasant face. He punches Raúl hard in the arm but the other man just laughs again.
“What the fuck is the point of that thing?”
“To make noise?” Raúl offers the horn over. “Give it a try. It’s so much fun!”
Alvaro pinches his nose in disgust. “No thanks. Your spit is all over that.”
“You need to embrace the culture, Alvi. Stop being a stiff!”
“I will embrace it when I am back here for the World Cup next summer.”
Raúl laughs. “You must be hanging out with Xabi too much. Too serious.” He makes a Xabi-like face, his face tight and stern. “If only I knew how to speak English.”
Alvaro breaks out in laughter. “You’re too stupid to learn English that you would probably forget Spanish in the process.”
“Hey!” Raúl calls out indignantly. “I could learn! If you speak English then so can I.”
“Come on, Raúl,” Alvaro snorts. “You know you couldn’t. Plus who would teach you? Xabi would tear you into shreds with his grammar and pronunciation. You wouldn’t last a day with him.”
“You teach me then.”
He doesn’t know what catches him more off guard, the statement or the look on Raúl’s face. He looks genuine, serious and it takes Alvaro by surprise but he laughs.
“Fuck off.”
“No, I’m serious. Teach me.”
Alvaro reaches and takes the vuvuzela from Raul’s hands. He ducks his head, a smile hiding on his lips. “Okay, then I will teach you.”
iv.
“Now?”
“Hold on...”
“Come on, Alvi! Let’s just do it already!”
“Okay... On three. One. Two...Three!”
They rush the washroom together, where Sergio just about to spend the next forty-five minutes on his hair. Raúl, much larger than him, grabs his arms and pulls them behind his back. Alvaro’s just as quick as he rubs his goop covered fingers into Sergio’s hair. Sergio struggles of course and the other two can’t keep up with how many puta madres are shouted into the air.
Alvaro pats his cheek before stepping back and yelling go! before the two of them sprint off in the direction of their hotel room. Raúl padlocks the door while Alvaro flops onto his back on top of his mattress. Seconds later, his partner is crime joins him and together they break out in rambunctious laughter. They know they don’t have much time before Sergio with Iker in tow come around, demanding they open the door (of course, Iker will do the rational talking in his captain’s voice whereas Sergio will threaten their lives... after he watches his hair of course).
Still gasping for air, Alvaro turns his head. His nose bumps intoRaúl’s and though he continues to chuckle, Raúl doesn’t. His brown honey-like eyes are serious as they flicker down to Alvaro’s lips for a split second.
Alvaro’s voice catches in his throat and he isn’t sure what to do. Luckily, they’re saved by the sound of pounding on the door.
v.
Alvaro’s drunk. Well, everyone is drunk. But Alvaro feels it all the way down to his toes. He doesn’t remember feeling like this... ever. It isn’t just the intoxication from the alcohol but from the euphoria of winning the World Cup. Alvaro cannot remember how many beers he had had in the locker room and how many drinks he has had in the span of one hour on the plane. Funnily enough, a rum-and-not-very-much-cola sits comfortably in his hand.
“Hey,” Raúl says with a giggle as he sits back down next Alvaro. “Are we really champions of the world?”
Alvaro reaches for the medal around Raúl’s neck and tugs on it so their faces are all but touching. “They must have made a mistake by giving you one too.” When he laughs, a puff of breath falls onto Raúl’s cheek. A silly smile (alcohol induced of course) settles into Raúl’s lips.
“What?”
“You have... something...” Raul leans in and when he kisses him, whatever is left of Alvaro’s sober mind shuts off and he lets himself become lost within the feeling.
When their lips part seconds later, Raúl laughs, his face still lit up like a little child on their birthday.
“We won the World Cup!”
Together they break out into laughter.
Pairing: Alvaro Arbeloa/Raúl Albiol
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Written for footballverse season four. Prompt: five things
i.
When he hears a pssst! for the third time in just minutes, Alvaro lets out an annoyed sigh before shuffling around in bed to turn on the light in between his and Raúl’s bed.
“What is it, Chori?”
Raúl is already leaning up onto an elbow, his caterpillar like eyebrows furrowed. “Are you not nervous for the match tomorrow at all?”
He’s known of Raúl, of course he has but this tournament - Europe Championship - is the first time he’s ever gotten to know him and Alvaro can’t say it’s been a complete pleasure.
“Of course I am but I am also very sleepy so if you wouldn’t mind...”
“I mean, it’s the quarterfinals tomorrow! That’s a big fucking deal, Alvi! Do you think I’ll play?”
Alvaro snorts. “Of course not, just like I won’t. Now go to sleep.” He goes to turn out the light when Raúl makes a noise that prevents him from doing so. He sighs again. “What, Chori?”
“I’m so happy to be here, to have this chance but... Doesn’t it suck? To not play?”
Raúl’s confused, innocent, hurt expression softens Alvaro’s reserve a little. He pushes the covers to the side as he sits up, his body swinging to the edge of the bed. He frowns though he tries to keep his face neutral and understanding.
“Of course it does... but you never know, right? You just have to wait your turn.”
“What if it never comes?”
The genuine despair catches Alvaro off guard and he all but trips over the sheets as he makes his way over to Raúl’s bed. He sits down next to him, resting a hand between their bodies against the mattress.
“You can’t think like that, Chori. You’re here for a reason.”
“What’s that?” Raúl looks down, no longer wanting Alvaro to see how deep his insecurities really run. “Alicia’s pregnant right now. I could be home with her. I should be home with her.”
Alvaro doesn’t think about it as he slides closer and cups Raúl’s cheek, gently caressing the soft stubble with his thumb.
“You belong here, Raúl.”
The soft use of his name has Raúl looking up, his eyes open and trusting. He lets out a soft laugh as he covers Alvaro’s hand with his own.
“Thanks, Alvi. I’ll let you sleep now.”
ii.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“What’s wrong, Chori?”
Raúl rushes out into the locker room. He has a look of pure panick on his face. “Fuck!”
“Raúl?”
“My last contact lens ripped! What the fuck am I going to use?! El mister said I’m starting! I can’t play if I can’t see! Fuck!”
If this was just a regular league match or training or just anywhere else, Alvaro would laugh and tell him too bad. But they are in the semi finals of Euro Championship. There is no hesitation by him.
“Take mine.”
“What?”
“I carry spares in my bag. Hang on.” Alvaro dives into his bag that sits on the floor next to his feet. He quickly fishes through his bag and produces two brand new contact lens. “Here.”
“What? I can’t use these.”
Alvaro shoves the lens into his hands. “Of course you can. You’re going to start and you need to see to play.”
Raúl still looks reluctant though for some reason but then he closes his fingers over the tiny containers. He leans in and places a light kiss to both of Alvaro’s cheeks.
“You are an amazing man Alvi.”
Alvaro just laughs it off. “Yeah yeah.”
iii.
It happens so quickly that Alvaro can’t remember why he’s flat on his ass, clutching his ears.
“Fuck, Chori!”
Raúl - of course - just laughs like a maniac, like it’s the funniest thing in the entire world. The fact that he’s holding a huge horn-like thing in his hand is very normal.
“It’s awesome, no? It’s called a vuvuzela or something. I’m going to take a bunch home.”
Alvaro dusts off his ass as he gets up from ground, a look of irritation marring his usually pleasant face. He punches Raúl hard in the arm but the other man just laughs again.
“What the fuck is the point of that thing?”
“To make noise?” Raúl offers the horn over. “Give it a try. It’s so much fun!”
Alvaro pinches his nose in disgust. “No thanks. Your spit is all over that.”
“You need to embrace the culture, Alvi. Stop being a stiff!”
“I will embrace it when I am back here for the World Cup next summer.”
Raúl laughs. “You must be hanging out with Xabi too much. Too serious.” He makes a Xabi-like face, his face tight and stern. “If only I knew how to speak English.”
Alvaro breaks out in laughter. “You’re too stupid to learn English that you would probably forget Spanish in the process.”
“Hey!” Raúl calls out indignantly. “I could learn! If you speak English then so can I.”
“Come on, Raúl,” Alvaro snorts. “You know you couldn’t. Plus who would teach you? Xabi would tear you into shreds with his grammar and pronunciation. You wouldn’t last a day with him.”
“You teach me then.”
He doesn’t know what catches him more off guard, the statement or the look on Raúl’s face. He looks genuine, serious and it takes Alvaro by surprise but he laughs.
“Fuck off.”
“No, I’m serious. Teach me.”
Alvaro reaches and takes the vuvuzela from Raul’s hands. He ducks his head, a smile hiding on his lips. “Okay, then I will teach you.”
iv.
“Now?”
“Hold on...”
“Come on, Alvi! Let’s just do it already!”
“Okay... On three. One. Two...Three!”
They rush the washroom together, where Sergio just about to spend the next forty-five minutes on his hair. Raúl, much larger than him, grabs his arms and pulls them behind his back. Alvaro’s just as quick as he rubs his goop covered fingers into Sergio’s hair. Sergio struggles of course and the other two can’t keep up with how many puta madres are shouted into the air.
Alvaro pats his cheek before stepping back and yelling go! before the two of them sprint off in the direction of their hotel room. Raúl padlocks the door while Alvaro flops onto his back on top of his mattress. Seconds later, his partner is crime joins him and together they break out in rambunctious laughter. They know they don’t have much time before Sergio with Iker in tow come around, demanding they open the door (of course, Iker will do the rational talking in his captain’s voice whereas Sergio will threaten their lives... after he watches his hair of course).
Still gasping for air, Alvaro turns his head. His nose bumps intoRaúl’s and though he continues to chuckle, Raúl doesn’t. His brown honey-like eyes are serious as they flicker down to Alvaro’s lips for a split second.
Alvaro’s voice catches in his throat and he isn’t sure what to do. Luckily, they’re saved by the sound of pounding on the door.
v.
Alvaro’s drunk. Well, everyone is drunk. But Alvaro feels it all the way down to his toes. He doesn’t remember feeling like this... ever. It isn’t just the intoxication from the alcohol but from the euphoria of winning the World Cup. Alvaro cannot remember how many beers he had had in the locker room and how many drinks he has had in the span of one hour on the plane. Funnily enough, a rum-and-not-very-much-cola sits comfortably in his hand.
“Hey,” Raúl says with a giggle as he sits back down next Alvaro. “Are we really champions of the world?”
Alvaro reaches for the medal around Raúl’s neck and tugs on it so their faces are all but touching. “They must have made a mistake by giving you one too.” When he laughs, a puff of breath falls onto Raúl’s cheek. A silly smile (alcohol induced of course) settles into Raúl’s lips.
“What?”
“You have... something...” Raul leans in and when he kisses him, whatever is left of Alvaro’s sober mind shuts off and he lets himself become lost within the feeling.
When their lips part seconds later, Raúl laughs, his face still lit up like a little child on their birthday.
“We won the World Cup!”
Together they break out into laughter.