locked behind walls (4/?) - the argument
Title: the argument (4/?)
Characters/Pairing: Casillas/Özil, Özil/Ramos, Cristiano Ronaldo, Sami Khedira, José Mourinho
Rating: R for some violence (nothing major, though)
Word Count: 790
Disclaimer: All I own is a vivid imagination and a fondness for boys in shorts groping each other.
Summary: Sergio is a bit of a slut, José is a guru, and Iker talks to Mesut… well, in a manner of speaking…
Previous chapters: the arrangement, the distance, the discovery
All in all it was a pretty good training. Cristiano and Mesut were playing off each other like half-gods, Iker was focused and determined, and it was rubbing off on all of them. José was more than satisfied and even gifted them with a rare ghost of a smile but he still made Sergio stay behind to lecture him about certain minor insecurities. Sergio didn’t bother telling him that there wouldn’t have been any minor insecurities if his alarm had gone off that morning because then he would have had time to treat himself to his special hangover cure like many times before. Then again, José probably knew anyway because he’s José and just knows things. So basically Sergio took this as a warning to always take care of his hangover before coming to training.
By the time he’s let off the hook the others are already leaving. Cristiano gives him a sly grin, not in the very least sympathetic and in return Sergio shows him the middle finger with a sweet smile much to everybody’s amusement. Sami kind of lingers in the corridor, quietly asking if he should wait up but all Sergio is in the mood for right now is a brutally cold shower, about a litre of killer black coffee to drown in, and a slow, lazy wank to the latest porn flick he downloaded the other day. He tells Sami as much and watches with amusement as the boy blushes just the tiniest bit. As he hurries after the others Sergio watches his strong thighs hidden tantalisingly under denim and makes a mental note to most definitely go there the next time the chance presents itself.
Entertaining himself with most pleasant mental images for a moment Sergio walks to the locker room, expecting to have the showers all to himself but he stops in his tracks as he hears voices from inside.
“You don’t know him like I do. He changes his lovers more often than his fucking underwear.”
Sergio recognises Iker’s voice, low, tense and sounding almost dangerous the way he’s forcefully trying to keep it down. The other person is speaking too quietly for Sergio to hear but it only seems to fuel Iker’s anger.
“You could walk into any bar in Madrid and would find at least a dozen of his drink driven one night stands at any given time. And he wouldn’t even remember half of them.”
Sergio grins. He can tell Iker is talking about him
“You just called your friend a slut. Way to go Saint Iker.”
Sergio raises his eyebrows as he recognises Mesut’s voice. His normal shyness is now replaced by anger, and it makes his words a messy jumble of Spanish and English. Iker is still keeping firmly to Spanish, as if out of spite and Sergio can’t help but wonder if Mesut has to guess half of what is being said.
“I’m not judging him, I’m warning you,” Iker shouts in frustration but what really shocks Sergio is that Mesut matches Iker’s volume.
“I don’t need your fucking warning.”
“The hell you don’t. He’s crawling all over you at every chance he gets.”
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“I’m making it my business.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt, you idiot.”
The sudden complete silence from inside the locker room hits Sergio harder than the harsh words of the argument have. There’s a long moment where he hardly dares to breathe and his fingers are already hovering over the door-handle but then suddenly there’s a loud sound as if something has hit a locker hard and before Sergio could even begin to think about what might have happened he has to jump out of the way because the door slams open and Mesut is storming out, not even noticing Sergio in his blind rage.
Only once he’s out of sight does Sergio dare glance inside, where Iker is just getting off the floor, leaning heavily on the bench, the back of his right hand pressed against his bleeding nose, the skin on his naked back scratched from where it hit the row of lockers. Just as Sergio is trying to decide if he should go in Iker lets out a long, low growling cry that sounds like it has been building up inside him for weeks or even months and all of a sudden he starts punching one of the lockers over and over and over again, his whole body one tense bundle of erupting frustration, until his fists are bleeding and sore and trembling and all Sergio can think about is that José will kill a bitch if Iker shows up at training with bandaged hands tomorrow.
Characters/Pairing: Casillas/Özil, Özil/Ramos, Cristiano Ronaldo, Sami Khedira, José Mourinho
Rating: R for some violence (nothing major, though)
Word Count: 790
Disclaimer: All I own is a vivid imagination and a fondness for boys in shorts groping each other.
Summary: Sergio is a bit of a slut, José is a guru, and Iker talks to Mesut… well, in a manner of speaking…
Previous chapters: the arrangement, the distance, the discovery
All in all it was a pretty good training. Cristiano and Mesut were playing off each other like half-gods, Iker was focused and determined, and it was rubbing off on all of them. José was more than satisfied and even gifted them with a rare ghost of a smile but he still made Sergio stay behind to lecture him about certain minor insecurities. Sergio didn’t bother telling him that there wouldn’t have been any minor insecurities if his alarm had gone off that morning because then he would have had time to treat himself to his special hangover cure like many times before. Then again, José probably knew anyway because he’s José and just knows things. So basically Sergio took this as a warning to always take care of his hangover before coming to training.
By the time he’s let off the hook the others are already leaving. Cristiano gives him a sly grin, not in the very least sympathetic and in return Sergio shows him the middle finger with a sweet smile much to everybody’s amusement. Sami kind of lingers in the corridor, quietly asking if he should wait up but all Sergio is in the mood for right now is a brutally cold shower, about a litre of killer black coffee to drown in, and a slow, lazy wank to the latest porn flick he downloaded the other day. He tells Sami as much and watches with amusement as the boy blushes just the tiniest bit. As he hurries after the others Sergio watches his strong thighs hidden tantalisingly under denim and makes a mental note to most definitely go there the next time the chance presents itself.
Entertaining himself with most pleasant mental images for a moment Sergio walks to the locker room, expecting to have the showers all to himself but he stops in his tracks as he hears voices from inside.
“You don’t know him like I do. He changes his lovers more often than his fucking underwear.”
Sergio recognises Iker’s voice, low, tense and sounding almost dangerous the way he’s forcefully trying to keep it down. The other person is speaking too quietly for Sergio to hear but it only seems to fuel Iker’s anger.
“You could walk into any bar in Madrid and would find at least a dozen of his drink driven one night stands at any given time. And he wouldn’t even remember half of them.”
Sergio grins. He can tell Iker is talking about him
“You just called your friend a slut. Way to go Saint Iker.”
Sergio raises his eyebrows as he recognises Mesut’s voice. His normal shyness is now replaced by anger, and it makes his words a messy jumble of Spanish and English. Iker is still keeping firmly to Spanish, as if out of spite and Sergio can’t help but wonder if Mesut has to guess half of what is being said.
“I’m not judging him, I’m warning you,” Iker shouts in frustration but what really shocks Sergio is that Mesut matches Iker’s volume.
“I don’t need your fucking warning.”
“The hell you don’t. He’s crawling all over you at every chance he gets.”
“That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“I’m making it my business.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt, you idiot.”
The sudden complete silence from inside the locker room hits Sergio harder than the harsh words of the argument have. There’s a long moment where he hardly dares to breathe and his fingers are already hovering over the door-handle but then suddenly there’s a loud sound as if something has hit a locker hard and before Sergio could even begin to think about what might have happened he has to jump out of the way because the door slams open and Mesut is storming out, not even noticing Sergio in his blind rage.
Only once he’s out of sight does Sergio dare glance inside, where Iker is just getting off the floor, leaning heavily on the bench, the back of his right hand pressed against his bleeding nose, the skin on his naked back scratched from where it hit the row of lockers. Just as Sergio is trying to decide if he should go in Iker lets out a long, low growling cry that sounds like it has been building up inside him for weeks or even months and all of a sudden he starts punching one of the lockers over and over and over again, his whole body one tense bundle of erupting frustration, until his fists are bleeding and sore and trembling and all Sergio can think about is that José will kill a bitch if Iker shows up at training with bandaged hands tomorrow.