letters from sevilla
title letters from sevilla
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres (implied), fernando torres/olalla dominguez
rating g
prompt .025 strangers
word count 365
summary au! loosely based on poets Rimbaud and Verlaine, who met in the manner depicted here and then began a volatile and eventually violent relationship. I started this intending for it to be a longer piece but decided I liked it open ended instead.
The first letter came and sat on Fernando's desk for two days before he opened it. By then, there was a second letter waiting next to it, both with stamps from Sevilla and cramped black ink spelling out his own name on the front. The cramped scrawl didn't suit the letters, Fernando decided, after throwing out the envelopes and reading the letters so many times the creases in the page had been worn out. The words were too elegant for such tiny script- they deserved calligraphy, beautiful letters sprawled over the page.
At first, Fernando wasn't sure why he wrote back. Later, reading the letters again and again, he was pretty sure he could figure it out.
--
The gypsy was short.
Shorter than Fernando had expected, at any rate. His hair hung down past his chin, in wild brown half-curls. But it was the poetry in his face that captured Fernando's attention; the grace of the jawbone, the straight, proud nose, the high brow, all arranging themselves in a way that struck Fernando like a punch to the gut. The gypsy coughed.
"I, um. Got your letter. Figured I'd take you up on your offer." His voice was low and melodic and it made Fernando think of the sun and long days spent under it.
Fernando crossed the threshold and pulled the gypsy into his arms, pressing his nose behind the boy's ear and inhaling deeply.
"You're my genius, right? Mi gitano."
Fernando pulled back and dragged the boy into the house with him. "Olalla will get your bags," he said dismissively, as the gypsy looked back over his shoulder.
"I didn't know you meant for me to stay here," the boy mumbled. He couldn't have been much younger than Fernando himself, but he exuded such innocence.
"Of course. Where else would you go, a motel? You wouldn't get a lot of work done there," Fernando replied, feeling and sounding uncharacteristically abrasive.
"Is that Sergio?" A woman's voice asked from upstairs.
"Who was that?" Sergio asked. He was acutely aware of Fernando's fingers, pressed warmly against his pulse point, circling his wrist, claiming him in a simple gesture. It was unsettling, but not unwelcome. In the same manner, Fernando's reply was cruel, but Sergio felt a warmth begin to tingle through his limbs.
"That was nobody. My wife, Olalla. Nobody."
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres (implied), fernando torres/olalla dominguez
rating g
prompt .025 strangers
word count 365
summary au! loosely based on poets Rimbaud and Verlaine, who met in the manner depicted here and then began a volatile and eventually violent relationship. I started this intending for it to be a longer piece but decided I liked it open ended instead.
The first letter came and sat on Fernando's desk for two days before he opened it. By then, there was a second letter waiting next to it, both with stamps from Sevilla and cramped black ink spelling out his own name on the front. The cramped scrawl didn't suit the letters, Fernando decided, after throwing out the envelopes and reading the letters so many times the creases in the page had been worn out. The words were too elegant for such tiny script- they deserved calligraphy, beautiful letters sprawled over the page.
At first, Fernando wasn't sure why he wrote back. Later, reading the letters again and again, he was pretty sure he could figure it out.
--
The gypsy was short.
Shorter than Fernando had expected, at any rate. His hair hung down past his chin, in wild brown half-curls. But it was the poetry in his face that captured Fernando's attention; the grace of the jawbone, the straight, proud nose, the high brow, all arranging themselves in a way that struck Fernando like a punch to the gut. The gypsy coughed.
"I, um. Got your letter. Figured I'd take you up on your offer." His voice was low and melodic and it made Fernando think of the sun and long days spent under it.
Fernando crossed the threshold and pulled the gypsy into his arms, pressing his nose behind the boy's ear and inhaling deeply.
"You're my genius, right? Mi gitano."
Fernando pulled back and dragged the boy into the house with him. "Olalla will get your bags," he said dismissively, as the gypsy looked back over his shoulder.
"I didn't know you meant for me to stay here," the boy mumbled. He couldn't have been much younger than Fernando himself, but he exuded such innocence.
"Of course. Where else would you go, a motel? You wouldn't get a lot of work done there," Fernando replied, feeling and sounding uncharacteristically abrasive.
"Is that Sergio?" A woman's voice asked from upstairs.
"Who was that?" Sergio asked. He was acutely aware of Fernando's fingers, pressed warmly against his pulse point, circling his wrist, claiming him in a simple gesture. It was unsettling, but not unwelcome. In the same manner, Fernando's reply was cruel, but Sergio felt a warmth begin to tingle through his limbs.
"That was nobody. My wife, Olalla. Nobody."