(no subject)
TITLE: Hide Behind Your Eyes - Chapter Seven
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It hurts all the time when you don’t answer my calls and don’t have the time to remember how it was.
FANDOM: Spanish Football (Ramos/Torres)
STATUS: In Progress (7/?)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
*~*Part Seven*~*
In any altercation there is the inevitable moment of understanding. The second in time when a truce would be called; a white flag would be raised and each party would ceasefire and lay down their arms.
The truce came on the flight from Austria to South Africa. Unable to stand the unspoken silence any longer, Fernando had left his seat and ambled down the aisle to where Sergio sat. The defender had looked over quizzically as Fernando crouched down in the aisle one hand resting on Sergio’s arm rest.
“Listen, I know we’re not in the best place,” Fernando had murmured quietly, “but we’re hopefully going to be in South Africa together until the very end, so... truce?”
Sergio nodded and offered his hand. Fernando shook it.
“Just...” Fernando trailed off and grimaced before pleading, “just don’t let me do anything stupid, okay?”
Sergio had smiled then. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, Nando. I know you better than that.”
“Well, promise that you won’t do anything stupid then. Please don’t do anything that’s going to influence me to do something equally as stupid.”
Sergio’s grin widened for an instant before his face was wiped free of all humour. “I promise I won’t try to seduce you,” he swore solemnly before the smile remerged at full force.
“I’m serious.” Fernando frowned watching as Sergio laughed quietly.
“So am I,” Sergio assured him. “But c’mon Nando, this is ridiculous. What do you expect to happen?”
Fernando dropped his eyes and let out a breath, “just promise me, okay? This isn’t easy for me.”
Sergio rested his hand over Fernando’s and squeezed gently. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I promise.”
Fernando flipped his hand over and squeezed Sergio’s for a second before standing and letting go, “thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
*
South Africa was a lot colder than Fernando had expected. The second they stepped off the plane he could feel it; a chill so deep that it pierced you right to the bone. The strangest thing was that the temperature in itself was nowhere near as cold as England, but the cold was different here. It had him shivering the second he stepped onto South African soil.
Training was interesting. South Africa was set at a higher altitude to what he was used to, so the altitude combined with the cold made Fernando feel like he was kicking around a beach ball. The Jabulani ball had a complete mind of its own; its specialty was changing direction in mid air. The worst thing was that every ball was different. It annoyed the hell out of everyone except for Sergio. Sergio found them amusing; he liked to give them all names based on their “personalities”. Fernando hadn’t been sure whether to be amused or horrified when after being kicked out of play Sergio had gone pelting after the ball yelling for “Jeckle” to come back.
It was impossible not to be charmed by his childish amusement.
*
It was somewhat painful to watch. Sergio wasn’t sure whether he should be concerned or not as he watched Fernando play. Something just wasn’t quite right. It was all there where it should be, he was just as fast and just as skilled as he always was, but something wasn’t working. His shots at goal would go wide; his passes would go astray or he wouldn’t quite reach a pass that he would usually have no problems with... Nothing was wrong, but at the same time everything was wrong.
It was tempting to take Fernando aside and see what was up, but keeping his promise was turning into more of a challenge than Sergio had initially anticipated. He had never really realised how playful and affectionate he was as a person until he was monitoring his every move. Time and time again he found himself breaking off mid sentence as his words took him down an inappropriate road, or stopping his movements as he caught himself reaching unknowingly towards Fernando.
Geeze, had he always been this grabby?
*
Fernando looked at the back of Sergio’s head, trailing his eyes along the wet strands of hair that caressed the defenders neck. As he watched a drop of water fell from the end of one strand and trailed down his bronzed skin into the neck of his red jacket. This drop was followed by another and then another until it was all Fernando could do not to reach out and squeeze the excess water from the ends.
Sergio turned and their eyes met briefly. “Stop,” he ordered quietly, “I can feel you looking.”
“No you can’t,” Fernando protested.
“Yes I can. You’re eyes are burning holes in the back of my neck.”
“I’m standing right behind you, where else would I look?”
“Away from me. I made you a promise Fernando; please don’t make this harder than it should be.”
*
It was long past midnight and uncomfortably cold. Sergio shivered and sunk his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans as he aimlessly walked the halls of the complex the Spanish National Team was to call home for the next few weeks.
He couldn’t sleep.
His mind was still reeling from tonight’s match. His body was running on a mixture of adrenaline and auto pilot and the result was him restlessly tossing and turning unable to get comfortable in a bed that was so far away from his own.
Emerging out onto the grounds, Sergio zipped his jacket up to his chin and strolled aimlessly towards the pitch, his sneakers sinking into the dewy grass.
He wasn’t alone, there was someone else on the pitch. Walking closer he was almost at the entrance to the grounds when he realised that the figure was Fernando. He was dribbling a soccer ball up and down the field taking shot after shot after shot at goal, each strike more frustrated and annoyed than the last. The night was one of the colder ones, but Fernando wasn’t wearing a training jacket, he was running around in a t-shirt and Sergio could almost see the sweat pouring off him from where he stood.
“Oh hell,” Sergio groaned, hastening his pace and hurrying down to the edge of the pitch. “Fernando, don’t do this,” Sergio called when he got there; “you’re going to make yourself sick.”
Fernando glanced over, registering his presence before kicking the soccer ball towards goal, it soared in a smooth arc and ricocheted off the side post. They both watched it bounce away, Fernando panting harshly into the night. Then all of a sudden Fernando dropped his hands to his thighs, breathing heavily.
“Fuck.” Sergio ran over quickly and grabbed his shoulder roughly to get his attention, “Nando?”
“Why can’t I do it?” Fernando whispered, his eyes catching Sergio’s and staring at him like he held all the answers in the world. “Why is everything falling apart? Here? Of all places?”
Sergio flicked his eyes over Fernando’s sweaty hair and flushed cheeks before unzipping his jacket and shoving it off his shoulders. Only once it was safely around Fernando’s did Sergio find his eyes and murmur, “I don’t know. But this isn’t helping. This is insane. We have training tomorrow. What are you trying to do, run yourself into the ground?”
Fernando ran a shaking hand through his wet hair, “No. I can’t do that. I tried in Liverpool.”
The desire to berate him for not looking after himself was so strong that Sergio had to bite his lip to stop the words from spilling out. It was only Fernando’s physical state that stopped him. He looked awful, but he didn’t just look awful now, his moral was low and his confidence was in shambles. If he was anyone else Sergio would have shouted at him and then ordered him to go get some sleep, but that was probably the last thing that Fernando needed. Especially at the World Cup when the entire world was expecting him to play well. So instead Sergio just and went to collect the ball before gesturing for Fernando, “alright, let’s do this then.”
Fernando looked up confused.
Sergio tossed the ball to him and held out his hands with a small smirk, “what’s the fun of trying to score some goals without a defender to go through?”
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It hurts all the time when you don’t answer my calls and don’t have the time to remember how it was.
FANDOM: Spanish Football (Ramos/Torres)
STATUS: In Progress (7/?)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. This story is a work of fiction and came from the deepest darkest corner of my imagination.
*~*Part Seven*~*
In any altercation there is the inevitable moment of understanding. The second in time when a truce would be called; a white flag would be raised and each party would ceasefire and lay down their arms.
The truce came on the flight from Austria to South Africa. Unable to stand the unspoken silence any longer, Fernando had left his seat and ambled down the aisle to where Sergio sat. The defender had looked over quizzically as Fernando crouched down in the aisle one hand resting on Sergio’s arm rest.
“Listen, I know we’re not in the best place,” Fernando had murmured quietly, “but we’re hopefully going to be in South Africa together until the very end, so... truce?”
Sergio nodded and offered his hand. Fernando shook it.
“Just...” Fernando trailed off and grimaced before pleading, “just don’t let me do anything stupid, okay?”
Sergio had smiled then. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, Nando. I know you better than that.”
“Well, promise that you won’t do anything stupid then. Please don’t do anything that’s going to influence me to do something equally as stupid.”
Sergio’s grin widened for an instant before his face was wiped free of all humour. “I promise I won’t try to seduce you,” he swore solemnly before the smile remerged at full force.
“I’m serious.” Fernando frowned watching as Sergio laughed quietly.
“So am I,” Sergio assured him. “But c’mon Nando, this is ridiculous. What do you expect to happen?”
Fernando dropped his eyes and let out a breath, “just promise me, okay? This isn’t easy for me.”
Sergio rested his hand over Fernando’s and squeezed gently. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I promise.”
Fernando flipped his hand over and squeezed Sergio’s for a second before standing and letting go, “thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
*
South Africa was a lot colder than Fernando had expected. The second they stepped off the plane he could feel it; a chill so deep that it pierced you right to the bone. The strangest thing was that the temperature in itself was nowhere near as cold as England, but the cold was different here. It had him shivering the second he stepped onto South African soil.
Training was interesting. South Africa was set at a higher altitude to what he was used to, so the altitude combined with the cold made Fernando feel like he was kicking around a beach ball. The Jabulani ball had a complete mind of its own; its specialty was changing direction in mid air. The worst thing was that every ball was different. It annoyed the hell out of everyone except for Sergio. Sergio found them amusing; he liked to give them all names based on their “personalities”. Fernando hadn’t been sure whether to be amused or horrified when after being kicked out of play Sergio had gone pelting after the ball yelling for “Jeckle” to come back.
It was impossible not to be charmed by his childish amusement.
*
It was somewhat painful to watch. Sergio wasn’t sure whether he should be concerned or not as he watched Fernando play. Something just wasn’t quite right. It was all there where it should be, he was just as fast and just as skilled as he always was, but something wasn’t working. His shots at goal would go wide; his passes would go astray or he wouldn’t quite reach a pass that he would usually have no problems with... Nothing was wrong, but at the same time everything was wrong.
It was tempting to take Fernando aside and see what was up, but keeping his promise was turning into more of a challenge than Sergio had initially anticipated. He had never really realised how playful and affectionate he was as a person until he was monitoring his every move. Time and time again he found himself breaking off mid sentence as his words took him down an inappropriate road, or stopping his movements as he caught himself reaching unknowingly towards Fernando.
Geeze, had he always been this grabby?
*
Fernando looked at the back of Sergio’s head, trailing his eyes along the wet strands of hair that caressed the defenders neck. As he watched a drop of water fell from the end of one strand and trailed down his bronzed skin into the neck of his red jacket. This drop was followed by another and then another until it was all Fernando could do not to reach out and squeeze the excess water from the ends.
Sergio turned and their eyes met briefly. “Stop,” he ordered quietly, “I can feel you looking.”
“No you can’t,” Fernando protested.
“Yes I can. You’re eyes are burning holes in the back of my neck.”
“I’m standing right behind you, where else would I look?”
“Away from me. I made you a promise Fernando; please don’t make this harder than it should be.”
*
It was long past midnight and uncomfortably cold. Sergio shivered and sunk his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans as he aimlessly walked the halls of the complex the Spanish National Team was to call home for the next few weeks.
He couldn’t sleep.
His mind was still reeling from tonight’s match. His body was running on a mixture of adrenaline and auto pilot and the result was him restlessly tossing and turning unable to get comfortable in a bed that was so far away from his own.
Emerging out onto the grounds, Sergio zipped his jacket up to his chin and strolled aimlessly towards the pitch, his sneakers sinking into the dewy grass.
He wasn’t alone, there was someone else on the pitch. Walking closer he was almost at the entrance to the grounds when he realised that the figure was Fernando. He was dribbling a soccer ball up and down the field taking shot after shot after shot at goal, each strike more frustrated and annoyed than the last. The night was one of the colder ones, but Fernando wasn’t wearing a training jacket, he was running around in a t-shirt and Sergio could almost see the sweat pouring off him from where he stood.
“Oh hell,” Sergio groaned, hastening his pace and hurrying down to the edge of the pitch. “Fernando, don’t do this,” Sergio called when he got there; “you’re going to make yourself sick.”
Fernando glanced over, registering his presence before kicking the soccer ball towards goal, it soared in a smooth arc and ricocheted off the side post. They both watched it bounce away, Fernando panting harshly into the night. Then all of a sudden Fernando dropped his hands to his thighs, breathing heavily.
“Fuck.” Sergio ran over quickly and grabbed his shoulder roughly to get his attention, “Nando?”
“Why can’t I do it?” Fernando whispered, his eyes catching Sergio’s and staring at him like he held all the answers in the world. “Why is everything falling apart? Here? Of all places?”
Sergio flicked his eyes over Fernando’s sweaty hair and flushed cheeks before unzipping his jacket and shoving it off his shoulders. Only once it was safely around Fernando’s did Sergio find his eyes and murmur, “I don’t know. But this isn’t helping. This is insane. We have training tomorrow. What are you trying to do, run yourself into the ground?”
Fernando ran a shaking hand through his wet hair, “No. I can’t do that. I tried in Liverpool.”
The desire to berate him for not looking after himself was so strong that Sergio had to bite his lip to stop the words from spilling out. It was only Fernando’s physical state that stopped him. He looked awful, but he didn’t just look awful now, his moral was low and his confidence was in shambles. If he was anyone else Sergio would have shouted at him and then ordered him to go get some sleep, but that was probably the last thing that Fernando needed. Especially at the World Cup when the entire world was expecting him to play well. So instead Sergio just and went to collect the ball before gesturing for Fernando, “alright, let’s do this then.”
Fernando looked up confused.
Sergio tossed the ball to him and held out his hands with a small smirk, “what’s the fun of trying to score some goals without a defender to go through?”