fic: untitled
title: untitled
pairing: iker casillas/sergio ramos
rated: pg
He didn’t quite remember when he first saw her, but if he had to guess, his age was somewhere between nine and ninety. At a time indeterminable when memories and whimsy blur together only the finer details matter, the little things felt and heard and tasted that made the moment truly live. If on the first telling it was midday with a ribbon of blue high in the sky and the second it was night and the stars cast white shadows on her alabaster skin, it did not matter because he could feel the snow seeping through the heavy weight of his pants, into the gray thermal pants that gathered tight around his ankles and socks stuffed in blue boots, snow as high as his knees and the trail left behind him meandered in large exuberant circles befitting a wander such as himself.
She burst from the horizon, from the tree line, from behind the sun (the moon) and into his vision so suddenly he could not be afraid. He refused to tremble as did the earth beneath his feet and the snow that fumbled from the high trees at her majesty. He stood his ground as her carriage drew closer, always closer, floating over the ground through which he waded. When you are young (or younger, a man or a boy) you have no fear in your heart and he hadn’t time to learn because she was upon him in the next blink, breath, rush of cold and he could (I can still) hear the grind of stone muscles, the gnashing edge of lion’s teeth sharp in the pale light (I can remember the way they glittered like onyx and arrowheads and hatchet edges in the sunset). He could feel their molten breath and smell their stone fur.
(What did they smell like?
They smell like mountains.)
A gentleman knew to take off his cap to a lady no matter the weather and he lifted his hand, old and aching in his gloves to salute her (and my hair was a mess, but what boy isn’t after running in the snow all day. I was sweaty even in the cold and I had slush all over from snowballs and snow angels and battling snow men). Her marble smile deepened at him, charmed by a show of grace and remembrance and tilted her head to acknowledge him. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words. He can no longer remember the words. The future remained far from him (it was so long ago. I was so young) but he thinks it was his name spoken, through the flicker of humming wings and the roar of twin lions, like a promise.
So long ago, he could barely believe it.
(Sergio smiled as he always did when Iker shared secrets with him and tucked this one close, sealed it with a kiss and said, I believe you.)
:: 487
pairing: iker casillas/sergio ramos
rated: pg
He didn’t quite remember when he first saw her, but if he had to guess, his age was somewhere between nine and ninety. At a time indeterminable when memories and whimsy blur together only the finer details matter, the little things felt and heard and tasted that made the moment truly live. If on the first telling it was midday with a ribbon of blue high in the sky and the second it was night and the stars cast white shadows on her alabaster skin, it did not matter because he could feel the snow seeping through the heavy weight of his pants, into the gray thermal pants that gathered tight around his ankles and socks stuffed in blue boots, snow as high as his knees and the trail left behind him meandered in large exuberant circles befitting a wander such as himself.
She burst from the horizon, from the tree line, from behind the sun (the moon) and into his vision so suddenly he could not be afraid. He refused to tremble as did the earth beneath his feet and the snow that fumbled from the high trees at her majesty. He stood his ground as her carriage drew closer, always closer, floating over the ground through which he waded. When you are young (or younger, a man or a boy) you have no fear in your heart and he hadn’t time to learn because she was upon him in the next blink, breath, rush of cold and he could (I can still) hear the grind of stone muscles, the gnashing edge of lion’s teeth sharp in the pale light (I can remember the way they glittered like onyx and arrowheads and hatchet edges in the sunset). He could feel their molten breath and smell their stone fur.
(What did they smell like?
They smell like mountains.)
A gentleman knew to take off his cap to a lady no matter the weather and he lifted his hand, old and aching in his gloves to salute her (and my hair was a mess, but what boy isn’t after running in the snow all day. I was sweaty even in the cold and I had slush all over from snowballs and snow angels and battling snow men). Her marble smile deepened at him, charmed by a show of grace and remembrance and tilted her head to acknowledge him. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words. He can no longer remember the words. The future remained far from him (it was so long ago. I was so young) but he thinks it was his name spoken, through the flicker of humming wings and the roar of twin lions, like a promise.
So long ago, he could barely believe it.
(Sergio smiled as he always did when Iker shared secrets with him and tucked this one close, sealed it with a kiss and said, I believe you.)
:: 487