#96: Writer's Choice
Do Right Man
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not true but I would wager Iker dances around his house based on that dancing in Africa video
A/N: it doesn't matter but the song that's playing is Do Right Woman, Do Right Man by Etta James (her version is the best, you can find it here)
for football100's prompt #96: Writer's Choice
Words: 520
Sergio liked his gypsy guitar and flamenco, Xabi his classical operatic arias, Fernando the loud, thrashing, guttural punk. But Iker, Iker was a jazz man. Give him Frank and the boys, a bottle of red wine and a night in and Iker was set. It didn’t matter Iker hadn’t been to New York, New York or seen Sinatra’s lady LA, it didn’t even matter he didn’t understand the language, he understood the feeling. He’d once gotten Xabi to translate an Etta James song and had come to the conclusion he didn’t need the words, the emotion in her voice made it clear.
So every once in a while Iker would beg off all engagements and play his records while fixing himself a decedent dinner for one. He wasn’t sure why he kept it such a big secret; it just seemed to be something he should keep between him and his records. Sergio would laugh anyways. He believed in the passion of music of course, but he also believed in understanding the words, singing along, hearing the poetry, feeling it on your tongue. So Iker kept quiet and his relationship with the old crooners was kept a secret affair.
Take me to heart, and I’ll always love you
He was having one of his nights in, his feet sweeping him from refrigerator to stove and back in time with the gentle beat. They stumbled off step as he went to make a flowing turn and saw Sergio standing in his kitchen doorway house keys in one hand, bottle of wine in the other and a smile on his face. Iker’s first thought, irrationally, was that he was glad his fedora (reserved for Rat pack nights) was still safely tucked away in the back of his closet.
She’s not just a plaything, she’s flesh and blood just like her man
“I-I wasn’t, I mean I don’t-” Iker’s mouth stuttered on without the permission of his brain, so sure that that smile was a precursor to laughter and mockery, his brain was stuck on how stupid he must look, one knee bent, arms raised in a waltz frame and he quickly straightened.
As long as we’re together baby, show some respect for me
But Sergio just sets the bottle on the counter and pulls out a wine glass, placing it beside Iker’s half-full one.
“Sergio….” Iker begins but trails off as the Sevillian sets about adding enough ingredients to make two portions of pasta.
Something in his mannerisms, the expression on his face, clues Iker in, “You knew?”
You gotta be a do right, all nights man
“Oh, of course.” The first words Sergio has spoken but it’s an offhand comment made as he slices some more peppers to add to the sauce.
“But-but I didn’t tell anyone.” Sergio executes a graceful sidestep in time with the music around the dumbstruck Iker.
“You didn’t have to.” The defender shrugs as he sets out another plate at Iker’s table, keeping the sway of the music captive in him hips and Iker has to fight to keep from saying silly things through his goofy smile.
Pairing: Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not true but I would wager Iker dances around his house based on that dancing in Africa video
A/N: it doesn't matter but the song that's playing is Do Right Woman, Do Right Man by Etta James (her version is the best, you can find it here)
for football100's prompt #96: Writer's Choice
Words: 520
Sergio liked his gypsy guitar and flamenco, Xabi his classical operatic arias, Fernando the loud, thrashing, guttural punk. But Iker, Iker was a jazz man. Give him Frank and the boys, a bottle of red wine and a night in and Iker was set. It didn’t matter Iker hadn’t been to New York, New York or seen Sinatra’s lady LA, it didn’t even matter he didn’t understand the language, he understood the feeling. He’d once gotten Xabi to translate an Etta James song and had come to the conclusion he didn’t need the words, the emotion in her voice made it clear.
So every once in a while Iker would beg off all engagements and play his records while fixing himself a decedent dinner for one. He wasn’t sure why he kept it such a big secret; it just seemed to be something he should keep between him and his records. Sergio would laugh anyways. He believed in the passion of music of course, but he also believed in understanding the words, singing along, hearing the poetry, feeling it on your tongue. So Iker kept quiet and his relationship with the old crooners was kept a secret affair.
Take me to heart, and I’ll always love you
He was having one of his nights in, his feet sweeping him from refrigerator to stove and back in time with the gentle beat. They stumbled off step as he went to make a flowing turn and saw Sergio standing in his kitchen doorway house keys in one hand, bottle of wine in the other and a smile on his face. Iker’s first thought, irrationally, was that he was glad his fedora (reserved for Rat pack nights) was still safely tucked away in the back of his closet.
She’s not just a plaything, she’s flesh and blood just like her man
“I-I wasn’t, I mean I don’t-” Iker’s mouth stuttered on without the permission of his brain, so sure that that smile was a precursor to laughter and mockery, his brain was stuck on how stupid he must look, one knee bent, arms raised in a waltz frame and he quickly straightened.
As long as we’re together baby, show some respect for me
But Sergio just sets the bottle on the counter and pulls out a wine glass, placing it beside Iker’s half-full one.
“Sergio….” Iker begins but trails off as the Sevillian sets about adding enough ingredients to make two portions of pasta.
Something in his mannerisms, the expression on his face, clues Iker in, “You knew?”
You gotta be a do right, all nights man
“Oh, of course.” The first words Sergio has spoken but it’s an offhand comment made as he slices some more peppers to add to the sauce.
“But-but I didn’t tell anyone.” Sergio executes a graceful sidestep in time with the music around the dumbstruck Iker.
“You didn’t have to.” The defender shrugs as he sets out another plate at Iker’s table, keeping the sway of the music captive in him hips and Iker has to fight to keep from saying silly things through his goofy smile.