guilt (sergio/fernando, r)
title: guilt
rating: soft r
pairing: sergio ramos/fernando torres
disclaimer: i lie
summary: sergio says his rosary and thinks only of fernando
word count: 1463
note: i go through the whole rosary here. sorry, guys, catholic! so, obviously, there are some overtly religious themes in here. oh, and the rosary prayers are all in spanish, because that's how i know them, and also because that seemed appropriate, given the nationality of our boys.
Creo en Dios, Padre todopoderoso, creador del Cielo y de la Tierra. Creo en Jesucristo su único Hijo, Nuestro Señor, que fue concebido por obra y gracia del Espíritu Santo; nació de Santa María Virgen; padeció bajo el poder de Poncio Pilato; fue crucificado, muerto y sepultado; descendió a los infiernos; al tercer día resucitó de entre los muertos; subió a los cielos y está a la diestra de Dios Padre; desde allí ha de venir a juzgar a los vivos y a los muertos. Creo en el Espíritu Santo, en la Santa Iglesia Católica, la comumión de los Santos en el perdon de los pecados la resurrección de los muertos y la vida eterna. Amen.
Sergio’s fingers slid over the crucifix just as they slid over Fernando’s cheekbones, smoothly, sure of themselves, with the same reverence and grace. But Sergio reserved adoration for Fernando, whose smooth, pale skin deserved softness, deserved tenderness. Sergio pressed his thumb down harder on the crucifix, imagining the tiny thorns drawing blood, harder, contrasting the smooth slide of Fernando’s skin to the harsh edges of the crucifix, fixated on the way the necklace doled out pain and Fernando healed it. Sergio closed his eyes and wrenched his fingers away from the crucifix and to the first set of beads.
Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu reino. Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día. Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal. Amen.
Fernando, Sergio mused, working the large bead back and forth in his sturdy fingers, would go to heaven. He, Sergio, would not. Because this was his fault, all of it, every touch, every stolen glance; he had corrupted his precious Fernando, led him into temptation and sin, blinded him to what was right and good and taken him for his own. The guilt of it all washed over Sergio every time he touched his lover, every time he rolled Fernando’s lips between his own, the way he rolled the bead between his fingers now. The guilt set in, drying onto his skin alongside Fernando’s sweat, salty and entirely too sweet, and Sergio couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop corrupting his Fernando, but the guilt was his alone, his burden to bear, and Fernando would pay none of the price, Sergio thought fiercely, none. He had led Fernando into sin, but he would protect the older man from its retributions, he would. Fernando was good and kind and loved with a heart untainted, so different from Sergio’s blackened one, and Sergio would fight with every breath in his body to keep it that way.
Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen.
Every time Sergio ran his hands over Fernando’s chest, slick with sweat and spotted with freckles, he prayed for Fernando to be saved. Every time he pressed his lips to Fernando’s neck, feeling the older man’s heartbeat, he whispered a blessing, soft enough to tickle instead of be heard, and licked the sentiment into Fernando’s skin, eagerly lapping up the taste of Fernando and his own guilt, twining, becoming synonymous -but how could anything so rapturous be so awful?- and Sergio accepted his punishment as eagerly as he accepted Fernando’s kisses. It didn’t matter that they could never be together publicly, it -almost- didn’t matter that Fernando was getting married, all that Sergio cared about were the moments when he was surrounded by Fernando, breathing him in, their limbs twisting together to get closer. Sergio would pay, pay for one thousand lifetimes, but Dios he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not for himself. But always for Fernando, always, and so every time he thrust in, hips lurching, fingers trembling, he dragged his lips across Fernando’s neck and breathed out a Hail Mary.
Gloria al Padre, al Hijo y al Espíritu Santo. Como era en el principio, ahora y siempre, por los siglos de los siglos. Amen.
Sergio’s fingers continued along the beads, less nimble, sweating slightly, and his thumb still pulsed from where he’d dug it into the crucifix moments ago. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and knew that there could be no greater glory than the look of delight on Fernando’s face when he scored a goal, no greater glory than being able to wake up, time and time again, to tufts of blonde hair and an armful of freckles. And Sergio knew, with an ache in his heart, that he would love Fernando, now and always, without end, without bounds, unconditionally, unfalteringly. He would love Fernando without beginning or end, through the despair of defeat and the triumph of victory.
Oh mi Jesús, perdónanos nuestros pecados, líbranos del fuego del infierno, lleva todas las almas al cielo, especialmente las más necesitadas de tu misericordia. Amen.
It wasn’t fair to anyone, Sergio knew, that he thought of Fernando as his own. It wasn’t right that he delighted in seeing any sort of mark that he’d put on Fernando, even bruises, but those made his heart hurt and rejoice at the same time. It wasn’t always best for his team that Sergio always, always marked Fernando in the games they played against each other, reveling in the feel of the older boy toppling onto him after a slide tackle, the press of Fernando’s back against his chest when they competed for a header. Sergio would let Fernando go when the time was right, would refuse to drag his lover into Hell with him, wouldn’t let that happen, would barter his own soul a thousand times over to spare his Niño. But for now, Sergio thought of Fernando as purely his, unashamed to growl territorially when someone else slung an arm over the striker’s shoulders.
Dios te salve, Reina y Madre de misericordia, vida, dulzura y esperanza nuestra, Dios te salve. A ti clamamos los desterrados hijos de Eva. A ti suspiramos gimiendo y llorando en este valle de lágrimas. Ea, pues, Señora, abogada nuestra: vuelve a nosotros esos tus ojos misericordiosos. Y después de este destierro, muéstranos a Jesús, fruto bendito de tu vientre. Oh clemente, oh piadosa, oh dulce Virgen María. Ruega por nosotros, Santa Madre de Dios, para que seamos dignos de las promesas de Cristo. Amen.
It was to Fernando that Sergio sent his sighs, his moans, his whispers. It was to Fernando that Sergio turned for almost everything -for love, for mercy, for forgiveness, and Fernando always, always, acquiesced, even though he was unsure why he was forgiving Sergio, because the blond had no idea that he was Sergio’s sin, Sergio’s only sin, his first and only, despite many contrary beliefs. Had no idea that although Sergio had seduced him, he was Sergio’s only disgrace, Sergio’s personal brand of temptation. And Sergio had fought it, God, he’d fought it, trying to save both of their souls, but he had failed, his lofty ideals come crashing down around him, and so Sergio had settled for saving one of their souls, Fernando’s, of course, and so it was to Fernando that Sergio send his sighs, his tears, his kisses. His love.
Oh Dios de quién Único Hijo nos ha otorgado los beneficios de la vida eterna, concédenos la gracia que te pedimos mientras meditamos los Misterios del Mas Santo Rosario de la Bienaventurada Virgen María, debemos imitar lo que contienen y obtener lo que prometen, a través del mismo Cristo Nuestro Señor. Amen.
Sergio folded the rosary into his hand, feeling again the crucifix prick at his palm, indenting it as he stood, slowly, from where he’d been kneeling. He opened his eyes and felt Fernando’s hot breath wash over the place where his shoulder joined his neck, leaning carefully into his lover and licking his lips. Fernando sucked at Sergio’s skin and slipped his arms around the younger man’s tanned waist, underneath Sergio’s arms. Sergio groaned low in his throat as he leaned his head back, and felt one of Fernando’s hands clasping over his, teasing the rosary beads. He turned to look at the older man, who slowly pulled the beads out of Sergio’s hands and tossed the necklace onto the bed, quirking an eyebrow. Sergio twined his fingers with Fernando’s now, not the necklace, and he turned to face his lover. Gently, he pressed his lips to Fernando’s cheek, smiling against the smooth, smooth skin and whispered, so softly, “Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia…”
rating: soft r
pairing: sergio ramos/fernando torres
disclaimer: i lie
summary: sergio says his rosary and thinks only of fernando
word count: 1463
note: i go through the whole rosary here. sorry, guys, catholic! so, obviously, there are some overtly religious themes in here. oh, and the rosary prayers are all in spanish, because that's how i know them, and also because that seemed appropriate, given the nationality of our boys.
Creo en Dios, Padre todopoderoso, creador del Cielo y de la Tierra. Creo en Jesucristo su único Hijo, Nuestro Señor, que fue concebido por obra y gracia del Espíritu Santo; nació de Santa María Virgen; padeció bajo el poder de Poncio Pilato; fue crucificado, muerto y sepultado; descendió a los infiernos; al tercer día resucitó de entre los muertos; subió a los cielos y está a la diestra de Dios Padre; desde allí ha de venir a juzgar a los vivos y a los muertos. Creo en el Espíritu Santo, en la Santa Iglesia Católica, la comumión de los Santos en el perdon de los pecados la resurrección de los muertos y la vida eterna. Amen.
Sergio’s fingers slid over the crucifix just as they slid over Fernando’s cheekbones, smoothly, sure of themselves, with the same reverence and grace. But Sergio reserved adoration for Fernando, whose smooth, pale skin deserved softness, deserved tenderness. Sergio pressed his thumb down harder on the crucifix, imagining the tiny thorns drawing blood, harder, contrasting the smooth slide of Fernando’s skin to the harsh edges of the crucifix, fixated on the way the necklace doled out pain and Fernando healed it. Sergio closed his eyes and wrenched his fingers away from the crucifix and to the first set of beads.
Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu reino. Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo. Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día. Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal. Amen.
Fernando, Sergio mused, working the large bead back and forth in his sturdy fingers, would go to heaven. He, Sergio, would not. Because this was his fault, all of it, every touch, every stolen glance; he had corrupted his precious Fernando, led him into temptation and sin, blinded him to what was right and good and taken him for his own. The guilt of it all washed over Sergio every time he touched his lover, every time he rolled Fernando’s lips between his own, the way he rolled the bead between his fingers now. The guilt set in, drying onto his skin alongside Fernando’s sweat, salty and entirely too sweet, and Sergio couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop corrupting his Fernando, but the guilt was his alone, his burden to bear, and Fernando would pay none of the price, Sergio thought fiercely, none. He had led Fernando into sin, but he would protect the older man from its retributions, he would. Fernando was good and kind and loved with a heart untainted, so different from Sergio’s blackened one, and Sergio would fight with every breath in his body to keep it that way.
Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen.
Every time Sergio ran his hands over Fernando’s chest, slick with sweat and spotted with freckles, he prayed for Fernando to be saved. Every time he pressed his lips to Fernando’s neck, feeling the older man’s heartbeat, he whispered a blessing, soft enough to tickle instead of be heard, and licked the sentiment into Fernando’s skin, eagerly lapping up the taste of Fernando and his own guilt, twining, becoming synonymous -but how could anything so rapturous be so awful?- and Sergio accepted his punishment as eagerly as he accepted Fernando’s kisses. It didn’t matter that they could never be together publicly, it -almost- didn’t matter that Fernando was getting married, all that Sergio cared about were the moments when he was surrounded by Fernando, breathing him in, their limbs twisting together to get closer. Sergio would pay, pay for one thousand lifetimes, but Dios he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not for himself. But always for Fernando, always, and so every time he thrust in, hips lurching, fingers trembling, he dragged his lips across Fernando’s neck and breathed out a Hail Mary.
Gloria al Padre, al Hijo y al Espíritu Santo. Como era en el principio, ahora y siempre, por los siglos de los siglos. Amen.
Sergio’s fingers continued along the beads, less nimble, sweating slightly, and his thumb still pulsed from where he’d dug it into the crucifix moments ago. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and knew that there could be no greater glory than the look of delight on Fernando’s face when he scored a goal, no greater glory than being able to wake up, time and time again, to tufts of blonde hair and an armful of freckles. And Sergio knew, with an ache in his heart, that he would love Fernando, now and always, without end, without bounds, unconditionally, unfalteringly. He would love Fernando without beginning or end, through the despair of defeat and the triumph of victory.
Oh mi Jesús, perdónanos nuestros pecados, líbranos del fuego del infierno, lleva todas las almas al cielo, especialmente las más necesitadas de tu misericordia. Amen.
It wasn’t fair to anyone, Sergio knew, that he thought of Fernando as his own. It wasn’t right that he delighted in seeing any sort of mark that he’d put on Fernando, even bruises, but those made his heart hurt and rejoice at the same time. It wasn’t always best for his team that Sergio always, always marked Fernando in the games they played against each other, reveling in the feel of the older boy toppling onto him after a slide tackle, the press of Fernando’s back against his chest when they competed for a header. Sergio would let Fernando go when the time was right, would refuse to drag his lover into Hell with him, wouldn’t let that happen, would barter his own soul a thousand times over to spare his Niño. But for now, Sergio thought of Fernando as purely his, unashamed to growl territorially when someone else slung an arm over the striker’s shoulders.
Dios te salve, Reina y Madre de misericordia, vida, dulzura y esperanza nuestra, Dios te salve. A ti clamamos los desterrados hijos de Eva. A ti suspiramos gimiendo y llorando en este valle de lágrimas. Ea, pues, Señora, abogada nuestra: vuelve a nosotros esos tus ojos misericordiosos. Y después de este destierro, muéstranos a Jesús, fruto bendito de tu vientre. Oh clemente, oh piadosa, oh dulce Virgen María. Ruega por nosotros, Santa Madre de Dios, para que seamos dignos de las promesas de Cristo. Amen.
It was to Fernando that Sergio sent his sighs, his moans, his whispers. It was to Fernando that Sergio turned for almost everything -for love, for mercy, for forgiveness, and Fernando always, always, acquiesced, even though he was unsure why he was forgiving Sergio, because the blond had no idea that he was Sergio’s sin, Sergio’s only sin, his first and only, despite many contrary beliefs. Had no idea that although Sergio had seduced him, he was Sergio’s only disgrace, Sergio’s personal brand of temptation. And Sergio had fought it, God, he’d fought it, trying to save both of their souls, but he had failed, his lofty ideals come crashing down around him, and so Sergio had settled for saving one of their souls, Fernando’s, of course, and so it was to Fernando that Sergio send his sighs, his tears, his kisses. His love.
Oh Dios de quién Único Hijo nos ha otorgado los beneficios de la vida eterna, concédenos la gracia que te pedimos mientras meditamos los Misterios del Mas Santo Rosario de la Bienaventurada Virgen María, debemos imitar lo que contienen y obtener lo que prometen, a través del mismo Cristo Nuestro Señor. Amen.
Sergio folded the rosary into his hand, feeling again the crucifix prick at his palm, indenting it as he stood, slowly, from where he’d been kneeling. He opened his eyes and felt Fernando’s hot breath wash over the place where his shoulder joined his neck, leaning carefully into his lover and licking his lips. Fernando sucked at Sergio’s skin and slipped his arms around the younger man’s tanned waist, underneath Sergio’s arms. Sergio groaned low in his throat as he leaned his head back, and felt one of Fernando’s hands clasping over his, teasing the rosary beads. He turned to look at the older man, who slowly pulled the beads out of Sergio’s hands and tossed the necklace onto the bed, quirking an eyebrow. Sergio twined his fingers with Fernando’s now, not the necklace, and he turned to face his lover. Gently, he pressed his lips to Fernando’s cheek, smiling against the smooth, smooth skin and whispered, so softly, “Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia…”