A treat for you: A Morabia fic
TItle: Observations
Author: lobazul
Pairing: Alvaro Morata/Pablo Sarabia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: NOT TRUE.
NOTE: I DID NOT WRITE THIS AND AM NOT ATTEMPTING TO TAKE CREDIT FOR IT.
I just saw it on Tumblr and was really excited that someone actually bothered to write Morata/Sarabia fanfiction.
The original story is here
They have known each other since they were 17.
Actually since they were 15, if it’s taken into account the times he has seen him from afar, coinciding in some public events or calls from the youth categories of the National Team. But it was a vague familiarity, from hearsay; knowing there was someone named Álvaro Morata, a promising striker, and not much more.
An insufficient familiarity.
It’s at the age of 17 when they start to play together and Pablo can say he begins to truly know him, starting to add data and details to that mental file he keeps in his mind for each one of his teammates. Álvaro Morata, the promising striker goes on to be simply Álvaro: irritatingly tall, generous on the field, easy to laugh, and a good teammate. With a middle name that is pure joke, which along with his slightly preppy appearance, makes him Alex’s favorite target of tease. Further observations: he does not resent those jokes, because very few times he is angry with someone. And he probably is the most hopelessly stupid guy Pablo has ever met.
Stupid, very stupid.
-Hey, Pablo, since you are gay, you could let me kiss you.
Stupid.
- I’m not gay. And my answer is the same as last week’s. No.
- But I have doubts!
- Does it look like I care?
- You are my friend.
- And what?
- Friends help each other.
- Help, not kiss each other.
- They kiss if that’s part of helping. I’d do anything you need, you know.
Pablo turns around from facing the desk. Álvaro is sitting on the bed, with his typical look, as a neglected puppy in the middle of the road. He can almost read the printing letters written on his forehead. Don’t let him doubt his sexuality, he would never do it.
- This conversation is starting to be a little unpleasant -snaps the winger, who has lost all hopes of finishing his homework before dinner time.
- Let’s end this for good. You can close your eyes and imagine I am… what’s the name of that one actor you like?
- I don’t like men.
- Yeah, sure. Let’s see, the blond elf that later went to the Caribbean, what was his name? You have a magazine, hidden somewhere.
Not as well hidden as he thought, apparently.
- Go to hell -he groaned, turning around on his chair again, more to avoid his friend seeing he blushed than out of real anger.
- You are hopeless. -he hears him complain, before that, during a few minutes, a wonderful and heartwarming silence prevails.
A silence that is broken by the usual bigmouth.
- Hey, puny, have you taken a look at Cristiano’s legs?
That Cristiano Ronaldo had been who triggered Álvaro’s crisis is still funny. The media would love to know. They would title it with big letters: “Cristiano: guilty of seducing a young canterano”.
No, Sarabia refutes himself seconds later; the story is so surrealistic that wouldn’t even fit a cover for little kids. No one would believe it.
Clearly, they don’t know Álvaro; they don’t know how stupid he can be. Pablo could gladly explain it to them and use abundant arguments, but no one has asked him.
Álex doesn’t seem to believe it either. Juanfran laughs every time he shows up with his mourning face. Nacho thinks he is doing it to get attention. Fran, holy patience, tries to reason with the troubled striker.
- Let’s see Alvariño. How can you find out you are gay only because you stared at Cristiano’s legs, for God’s sake?
- Have you seen them?
- I don’t go around looking at legs
- You see?
Álvaro doesn’t seem to be aware of how ridiculous he is being, neither the rest. Actually Pablo is the only one who seems irritated -and everyday more-, as the good roommate who has to deal with his thinking aloud -he is incapable of thinking any other way- and his moments of spacing out; that, not to mention the sugary calls with which he tries to please his tiresome girlfriend.
One day, he discovers he can’t deal with it anymore. He is sick of it.
Of the absurd situation. Of his friends trivializing the topic with laughter. And of the fact that the only solution to the problem seems to come from him.
- I don’t know if I should meet up with her. -the young gentleman is crowing at Álex, who doesn’t even bother to hide his smile-. I feel that I’m betraying her, that I’m not being honest about my feelings. I want to behave as a gentleman, you know?
Pablo sighs, getting up from the bench.
- Álvaro
- What?
He opens his arms in an exasperated gesture.
- Kiss me.
The plaza seems to fall silent. A car passes nearby, illuminating them with the headlights. No one moves. No one else speaks. Not Álex, not Nacho, not Juanfran; not, of course, Sarabia.
Álvaro looks at him, thoughtfully. He stands up, slowly.
- Are you sure?
- No, I’m not sure. But I want you to shut up already.
He shrugs. How dumb!
- Okay.
That easy? A voice inside Pablo’s head mumbles as Álvaro gets closer; his three friends holding their breath. The truth is he is thankful for their presence: in a public place with an audience is the best way, so neither of them takes it seriously; in the intimacy of their room, it would have been hard to look at each other normally again. He thinks so.
It’s then that Pablo realizes other observations that he had perhaps overlooked -or he forgot to make a mental note about them-. Not just the fact that Álvaro is, definitely, quite masculine and very handsome, along with being tall. He also has that dominant male attitude when he grabs his waist and brings him closer, as it was the most normal thing in the world. But he is more delicate than he had expected, cavalierly gentle, and -why deny he had noticed? - he smells good.
(Pablo has the slight suspicion, his brain is filling him with irrelevant details to try to prevent his legs from shaking before the evidence that Álvaro will kiss him. But well. The truth is he understands.
And then, it happens: happens because he barely notices it. It is so quick that he frowns as a reflex; he is disappointed. A quick touch of lips, his hands let go of him, and that’s it.
- Fuck! Is that it? No tongue? -Nacho cries out.
- If that’s how you kiss your girlfriend, Alvarito, now I understand why you are so fucked up -Álex laughs.
Pablo doesn’t laugh. Pablo wipes his lips with the back of his hand, looks at Álvaro and sees his deadly serious facial expression, like an apology. He makes a gesture as to smile; not sure he accomplishes it.
- I hope you thought about that one actor -mumbles the striker.
He avoids answering as he approaches the bench where everyone waits.
No, he has not thought about that one actor. He never thinks about him.
He thought of the one he always thinks about when he allows himself to fantasize, image, or simply has one of those dreams that make him wake up feeling wet and uncomfortable.
Álvaro Morata.
Oh, and Miss Alonso would you be so kind as to add a tag for morabia? (thats what I think we should call this ship ;)
Tell me if you guys liked this, and I'll start another Morabia fic for you all :)
Author: lobazul
Pairing: Alvaro Morata/Pablo Sarabia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: NOT TRUE.
NOTE: I DID NOT WRITE THIS AND AM NOT ATTEMPTING TO TAKE CREDIT FOR IT.
I just saw it on Tumblr and was really excited that someone actually bothered to write Morata/Sarabia fanfiction.
The original story is here
They have known each other since they were 17.
Actually since they were 15, if it’s taken into account the times he has seen him from afar, coinciding in some public events or calls from the youth categories of the National Team. But it was a vague familiarity, from hearsay; knowing there was someone named Álvaro Morata, a promising striker, and not much more.
An insufficient familiarity.
It’s at the age of 17 when they start to play together and Pablo can say he begins to truly know him, starting to add data and details to that mental file he keeps in his mind for each one of his teammates. Álvaro Morata, the promising striker goes on to be simply Álvaro: irritatingly tall, generous on the field, easy to laugh, and a good teammate. With a middle name that is pure joke, which along with his slightly preppy appearance, makes him Alex’s favorite target of tease. Further observations: he does not resent those jokes, because very few times he is angry with someone. And he probably is the most hopelessly stupid guy Pablo has ever met.
Stupid, very stupid.
-Hey, Pablo, since you are gay, you could let me kiss you.
Stupid.
- I’m not gay. And my answer is the same as last week’s. No.
- But I have doubts!
- Does it look like I care?
- You are my friend.
- And what?
- Friends help each other.
- Help, not kiss each other.
- They kiss if that’s part of helping. I’d do anything you need, you know.
Pablo turns around from facing the desk. Álvaro is sitting on the bed, with his typical look, as a neglected puppy in the middle of the road. He can almost read the printing letters written on his forehead. Don’t let him doubt his sexuality, he would never do it.
- This conversation is starting to be a little unpleasant -snaps the winger, who has lost all hopes of finishing his homework before dinner time.
- Let’s end this for good. You can close your eyes and imagine I am… what’s the name of that one actor you like?
- I don’t like men.
- Yeah, sure. Let’s see, the blond elf that later went to the Caribbean, what was his name? You have a magazine, hidden somewhere.
Not as well hidden as he thought, apparently.
- Go to hell -he groaned, turning around on his chair again, more to avoid his friend seeing he blushed than out of real anger.
- You are hopeless. -he hears him complain, before that, during a few minutes, a wonderful and heartwarming silence prevails.
A silence that is broken by the usual bigmouth.
- Hey, puny, have you taken a look at Cristiano’s legs?
That Cristiano Ronaldo had been who triggered Álvaro’s crisis is still funny. The media would love to know. They would title it with big letters: “Cristiano: guilty of seducing a young canterano”.
No, Sarabia refutes himself seconds later; the story is so surrealistic that wouldn’t even fit a cover for little kids. No one would believe it.
Clearly, they don’t know Álvaro; they don’t know how stupid he can be. Pablo could gladly explain it to them and use abundant arguments, but no one has asked him.
Álex doesn’t seem to believe it either. Juanfran laughs every time he shows up with his mourning face. Nacho thinks he is doing it to get attention. Fran, holy patience, tries to reason with the troubled striker.
- Let’s see Alvariño. How can you find out you are gay only because you stared at Cristiano’s legs, for God’s sake?
- Have you seen them?
- I don’t go around looking at legs
- You see?
Álvaro doesn’t seem to be aware of how ridiculous he is being, neither the rest. Actually Pablo is the only one who seems irritated -and everyday more-, as the good roommate who has to deal with his thinking aloud -he is incapable of thinking any other way- and his moments of spacing out; that, not to mention the sugary calls with which he tries to please his tiresome girlfriend.
One day, he discovers he can’t deal with it anymore. He is sick of it.
Of the absurd situation. Of his friends trivializing the topic with laughter. And of the fact that the only solution to the problem seems to come from him.
- I don’t know if I should meet up with her. -the young gentleman is crowing at Álex, who doesn’t even bother to hide his smile-. I feel that I’m betraying her, that I’m not being honest about my feelings. I want to behave as a gentleman, you know?
Pablo sighs, getting up from the bench.
- Álvaro
- What?
He opens his arms in an exasperated gesture.
- Kiss me.
The plaza seems to fall silent. A car passes nearby, illuminating them with the headlights. No one moves. No one else speaks. Not Álex, not Nacho, not Juanfran; not, of course, Sarabia.
Álvaro looks at him, thoughtfully. He stands up, slowly.
- Are you sure?
- No, I’m not sure. But I want you to shut up already.
He shrugs. How dumb!
- Okay.
That easy? A voice inside Pablo’s head mumbles as Álvaro gets closer; his three friends holding their breath. The truth is he is thankful for their presence: in a public place with an audience is the best way, so neither of them takes it seriously; in the intimacy of their room, it would have been hard to look at each other normally again. He thinks so.
It’s then that Pablo realizes other observations that he had perhaps overlooked -or he forgot to make a mental note about them-. Not just the fact that Álvaro is, definitely, quite masculine and very handsome, along with being tall. He also has that dominant male attitude when he grabs his waist and brings him closer, as it was the most normal thing in the world. But he is more delicate than he had expected, cavalierly gentle, and -why deny he had noticed? - he smells good.
(Pablo has the slight suspicion, his brain is filling him with irrelevant details to try to prevent his legs from shaking before the evidence that Álvaro will kiss him. But well. The truth is he understands.
And then, it happens: happens because he barely notices it. It is so quick that he frowns as a reflex; he is disappointed. A quick touch of lips, his hands let go of him, and that’s it.
- Fuck! Is that it? No tongue? -Nacho cries out.
- If that’s how you kiss your girlfriend, Alvarito, now I understand why you are so fucked up -Álex laughs.
Pablo doesn’t laugh. Pablo wipes his lips with the back of his hand, looks at Álvaro and sees his deadly serious facial expression, like an apology. He makes a gesture as to smile; not sure he accomplishes it.
- I hope you thought about that one actor -mumbles the striker.
He avoids answering as he approaches the bench where everyone waits.
No, he has not thought about that one actor. He never thinks about him.
He thought of the one he always thinks about when he allows himself to fantasize, image, or simply has one of those dreams that make him wake up feeling wet and uncomfortable.
Álvaro Morata.
Oh, and Miss Alonso would you be so kind as to add a tag for morabia? (thats what I think we should call this ship ;)
Tell me if you guys liked this, and I'll start another Morabia fic for you all :)