You can be the boss down there, but I'm boss up here!
Title: Night of the Living Dead
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350+
Notes: Some poorly inspired Gitano filler that will never make it into the final draft.
"Brains," Fernando groans. He shuffles stiff-armed to the bed. He falls on Sergio more than pounces, gets a mouthful of hair, gnaws. Sergio fights only weakly, breath stuttering into laughter. He bemoans infection by digging fingers into Fernando's shoulders, panting. He makes a poor zombie-hunter, a good victim.
They shouldn't have attempted a marathon. After just three movies, they are euphoric with lack of sleep. They tumble, loose-limbed, over the edge of the mattress and wrestle lazily while the television delivers the quintessential horror line.
Fernando scrapes his teeth against Sergio's jaw. His voice is a thin, lilting rasp. --"I'm coming to get you, Sergio."-- And he barely thwarts an attempt to escape beneath the bed by hooking his arms around narrow hips. He tries to get his teeth into Sergio's back, inspires a muffled yell.
Sergio grabs at the bed slats and pulls, hauls himself half into safety, kicking dust bunnies out at Fernando as soon as his legs are free. "I'm calling Defra," he says, stubborn, and swats when Fernando makes a grab for him.
"Rural affairs?" Fernando nearly chokes on a laugh. He catches a fistful of Sergio's pants, yanks hard.
"This is a rabies outbreak!" Sergio has to put real effort into not being dragged over the smooth floorboards and into Fernando's clutching, bloodthirsty grasp.
"Zombie-ism is no joke," Fernando replies, honest indignation stitching his voice. "I'm going to eat you from the feet up, out of spite." And he shoves himself beneath the bed in a brilliant tactical maneuver which would make the undead proud.
Sergio squawks, his heart plummets, and he is a gypsy in the headlights while Fernando pins him. But Fernando's hunger for brain matter dissipates. He wriggles to make room for himself in their newfound quarters. He savors the few centimeters separating sets of quaking shoulders and aching knees. He fakes coquettish embarrassment when his stomach rumbles hunger.
"One more bite," Sergio warns, and curls a hand pre-emptively around Fernando's shoulder.
"I can't help it. I'm starving and you're the only horse around."
Sergio leads the attack this time.
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350+
Notes: Some poorly inspired Gitano filler that will never make it into the final draft.
"Brains," Fernando groans. He shuffles stiff-armed to the bed. He falls on Sergio more than pounces, gets a mouthful of hair, gnaws. Sergio fights only weakly, breath stuttering into laughter. He bemoans infection by digging fingers into Fernando's shoulders, panting. He makes a poor zombie-hunter, a good victim.
They shouldn't have attempted a marathon. After just three movies, they are euphoric with lack of sleep. They tumble, loose-limbed, over the edge of the mattress and wrestle lazily while the television delivers the quintessential horror line.
Fernando scrapes his teeth against Sergio's jaw. His voice is a thin, lilting rasp. --"I'm coming to get you, Sergio."-- And he barely thwarts an attempt to escape beneath the bed by hooking his arms around narrow hips. He tries to get his teeth into Sergio's back, inspires a muffled yell.
Sergio grabs at the bed slats and pulls, hauls himself half into safety, kicking dust bunnies out at Fernando as soon as his legs are free. "I'm calling Defra," he says, stubborn, and swats when Fernando makes a grab for him.
"Rural affairs?" Fernando nearly chokes on a laugh. He catches a fistful of Sergio's pants, yanks hard.
"This is a rabies outbreak!" Sergio has to put real effort into not being dragged over the smooth floorboards and into Fernando's clutching, bloodthirsty grasp.
"Zombie-ism is no joke," Fernando replies, honest indignation stitching his voice. "I'm going to eat you from the feet up, out of spite." And he shoves himself beneath the bed in a brilliant tactical maneuver which would make the undead proud.
Sergio squawks, his heart plummets, and he is a gypsy in the headlights while Fernando pins him. But Fernando's hunger for brain matter dissipates. He wriggles to make room for himself in their newfound quarters. He savors the few centimeters separating sets of quaking shoulders and aching knees. He fakes coquettish embarrassment when his stomach rumbles hunger.
"One more bite," Sergio warns, and curls a hand pre-emptively around Fernando's shoulder.
"I can't help it. I'm starving and you're the only horse around."
Sergio leads the attack this time.