millions
title millions
word count 264
prompt 055. spirit
rating pg. fluff all around!
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres
summary sergio's armband, and the significance thereof. written for adorerdollylux
“Why d’you wear this?”
Fernando’s fingers trace along the edge of the wristband, the red made bolder by the contrast with his pale skin. Sergio grins and puts his hand on top of the striker’s, lacing their fingers together over the fabric.
“Feli gave it to me,” he says. “Him and Rafa.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Fernando scolds, pinching the skin between Sergio’s thumb and forefinger. Sergio laughs.
The evening stretches out before them, long and languid, not betraying any of the nerves Sergio feels pooling in his stomach. They shift and settle on the bed, pressed together from shoulder to knee, and slowly, slowly, Sergio wills the tension out of his limbs.
“I wear it ‘cause it helps me remember that it’s not just for us,” Sergio says after a while. He rubs his thumb over Fernando’s knuckles. “It’s for Rafa and Feli and millions of other people that I’ll never meet. I don’t know, I look at it and I feel connected to them.”
Fernando slides the fabric band from his wrist back to Sergio’s, bracketing it with long fingers. “I like that,” he says, snuggling against Sergio’s chest. “It’s a nice thought.”
They both know it’s more than a nice thought. It’s what will get them through tonight, what will both outweigh and encourage the nerves and tension. It’s what will push them onto the pitch tomorrow, a spirit as strong as a giant invisible hand, straightening their line, tipping their faces skyward during the anthem. It’s what will fuel their desire on the pitch. Triumph or defeat, it’s for-
Spain.
word count 264
prompt 055. spirit
rating pg. fluff all around!
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres
summary sergio's armband, and the significance thereof. written for adorerdollylux
“Why d’you wear this?”
Fernando’s fingers trace along the edge of the wristband, the red made bolder by the contrast with his pale skin. Sergio grins and puts his hand on top of the striker’s, lacing their fingers together over the fabric.
“Feli gave it to me,” he says. “Him and Rafa.”
“That wasn’t the question,” Fernando scolds, pinching the skin between Sergio’s thumb and forefinger. Sergio laughs.
The evening stretches out before them, long and languid, not betraying any of the nerves Sergio feels pooling in his stomach. They shift and settle on the bed, pressed together from shoulder to knee, and slowly, slowly, Sergio wills the tension out of his limbs.
“I wear it ‘cause it helps me remember that it’s not just for us,” Sergio says after a while. He rubs his thumb over Fernando’s knuckles. “It’s for Rafa and Feli and millions of other people that I’ll never meet. I don’t know, I look at it and I feel connected to them.”
Fernando slides the fabric band from his wrist back to Sergio’s, bracketing it with long fingers. “I like that,” he says, snuggling against Sergio’s chest. “It’s a nice thought.”
They both know it’s more than a nice thought. It’s what will get them through tonight, what will both outweigh and encourage the nerves and tension. It’s what will push them onto the pitch tomorrow, a spirit as strong as a giant invisible hand, straightening their line, tipping their faces skyward during the anthem. It’s what will fuel their desire on the pitch. Triumph or defeat, it’s for-
Spain.