Request Fic: Fernando Llorente/Fernando Torres, PG-13
Title: Second Chances
Pairing: Fernando Llorente/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: no
Word Count: 1,552
Disclaimer: Not true. As simple as that.
Summary: Two guys, one shirt and too much confusion.
Notes: Written for sophie_lfc's request, who wanted a fluffy Llorente/Torres. Well, the result is not exactly that, but as I've warned - fluff is not my thing (to me, it is fluffy, but I doubt it is by anyone else's standards). There's definitely angst there, consider yourself warned.
Torres
Let him be very clear about it: his heart is does not beat faster when he thinks about the national call-ups. It simply doesn't.
And even if it does, it's because he's eager to play for the national team again. It's because it's a chance to meet all his friends.
It has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Fernando.
That'd be just ridiculous. The mere idea of getting excited over that would be ridiculous.
The entire concept of them together is ridiculous.
He can't stop thinking about it.
Llorente
He can't stop thinking about him, about the way he looked at him, sitting naked on his bed, his eyes sleepy and unfocused, his hair tousled and his lips swollen from last night. He can't stop thinking about the fact he almost changed his mind and returned to the bed when he looked at him like that. Almost. But no. He knew it for what it was - a crazy, one time thing. Too much alcohol. Too little self control. Too many nights spent thinking about Fernando's lips and freckled skin and… But he knew it was a one time thing, and no matter how pretty he looked, how inviting his swollen lips looked, he couldn't do it. Not sober.
So he didn't. He just tossed his shirt to Fernando and waited for him to get dressed and leave.
He can't stop thinking about him, about that night, about his shirt on Fernando. The one he had to give to him because his own was in tatters. Because of him. Fernando thought that he must have thrown it to the nearest garbage bin as soon as he could.
Torres
He almost packs the shirt. The one he kept though he shouldn't have. The one he slept in most nights, though it was utterly ridiculous and a little pathetic. The one that was much too big on him and hadn't smelled like Fernando for a very long time now.
Then he packs it anyway, thinking he might as well return it, coldly shove it in Fernando's hands and show him he doesn't care at all.
Llorente
He sees him immediately, spots the way he walks from far away and can't make himself avert his gaze. He's as slender and as pretty as he remembered, though now when he looks at him he can't help but think about the way he looked flushed and hot and desperate and writhing wantonly beneath him. He can't look away - though he should, Fernando's going to see him any moment now and he's sure his thoughts, lustful and desperate, are written all over his face.
Torres
He knows he's there without looking, so he tries to avoid looking forward for as long as he can. He doesn't want to actually see it - to see him looking at him with indifference or disdain.
When it's inevitable, he looks up, steeling himself for that first sight of him, schooling his face to look cold and indifferent and not at all like the face of someone who's been sleeping in Fernando's shirt for the last two months.
Llorente
Of course he looks at him like that, with a steely, cold disdain. Why wouldn't he? It's not as if there's anything more between them than a stupid, drunken one night stand. It's not like he was particularly nice to him afterwards. It's not like he's ever told him that he's been in his dreams, in his fantasies, every day after that.
Torres
He looked just as he remembered, tall and beautiful and so self assured. And completely uninterested. He thinks of all those things when he unpacks and finds Fernando's shirt, carefully folded beneath his kit. He thinks about the way he looked at him when he pulls the shirt on, and tries to imagine him looking differently, tries to remember the way he looked at him that night, with such lust and passion, with such a concentration, as if he was the only person who existed, the only one who mattered.
He can feel his cock responding, hardening in his pants, begging for release, when someone knocks on his door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing his erection to disappear. When the knocking grows louder and more insistent he decides it doesn't matter - whoever it is, he's going to get rid of them, take off his pants, leave Fernando's shirt on and touch himself, imagining Fernando's eyes on him, imagining…
He opens the door so violently, his guest almost falls in.
Oh, damn.
It's Fernando.
Llorente
He's about to leave when the door swings open so suddenly, he almost falls over. Just as he steadies himself, he sees it.
Fernando. In his shirt.
Of course, it could be an identical one, but…
It really couldn't. No reason for Fernando to have an identical shirt, much less one that's two sizes to big.
It looks much more worn than when he last saw it.
Fernando must have forgotten it's his, he reasons with himself. He must have simply forgotten and it got mixed with his own clothes and it means…it means nothing at all.
But his heart beats just a little bit faster, and when he looks up he can see Fernando caught him staring at the shirt and is blushing so hotly, it cannot possibly be a coincidence.
He must say the right thing before he ruins it all again.
Torres
This must be the most humiliating moment of his life. Getting caught by Fernando, wearing his shirt. And there's no doubt about it - Fernando saw and recognised it, he's been staring at it since he opened the door.
He feels his cheeks burning. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse…
They eyes meet and if it's at all possible, he thinks he just blushed even harder. If he could move, he'd slam the door in Fernando's face and hide. But he can't. He can't move - he can just stand there, wearing another man's shirt and wait for him to say something.
Fernando doesn't look at his as he'd expected him too - with disdain or pity. He looks…shocked. But there's something beneath that, some other emotion he can't quite name until Fernando looks at him again - and he knows that look. It's almost the way he looked at him that night, that same undisguised lust, and something else, something more… Something that makes Fernando's heart skip a beat.
"I'm sorry," Fernando says suddenly, his hands slowly reaching for Fernando, caressing his own shirt, making him shiver and lean into his touch.
Llorente
The problem is, he can't think of the right thing to say. He feels so stupid when he thinks of what it must mean that Fernando's wearing his shirt, that he's blushing when he looks at him. He feels so stupid and so exhilarated, so turned on by that, he just can't say anything eloquent or convincing or adequate, anything that'd explain how he felt these last few months.
"I'm sorry," is the best thing he comes up with, and at least it's true, so true that he hopes Fernando can hear that in his voice. He should probably say something else, elaborate, instead of just reaching for him and stroking him through that damn shirt as if he can't keep his hands to himself. Only that part is also true, of course. He can't. Not after the dreams he had about Fernando's eyes looking up at him, shining with lust, not after he'd imagined day after day what would have happened if he just took these few steps back to bed and kissed Fernando's swollen lips instead of leaving.
Torres
He can't help himself - he moans as Fernando touches him, leans into him, although he still feels he should be mad and embarrassed for reacting so easily and eagerly, pushing himself against Fernando like he needed it, like he needed him. Which he did. But that look - that look in Fernando's eyes, it made him feel like it wasn't that bad to just let him touch him, like he wasn't the only one feeling so eager and so undone but such a small, simple touch. Like it was ok to stop standing there like a frozen statue and pull Fernando to him and kiss him as deeply and eagerly as he wanted to every day since that dumb, drunken night.
Llorente
He looks at Fernando sitting up slowly on his bed, blinking sleepily against the sun, naked and beautiful and looking at him expectantly. For a second, the rush of emotions he feels when he sees him like that makes him want to walk out of the door before he's so in love with Fernando, he can never leave him at all.
But he looks at Fernando smiling at him, beckoning him to join him and makes his way back to him, eager to find out how it'd feel to kiss his swollen lips.
It's better than he'd imagined - to kiss him slowly, knowing he'll be able to do that again and again whenever he wants to, knowing he can take his time and be certain it won't be the last time he's allowed to touch this beautiful man.
Even he's not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.