Visiting Nando
Raúl Gonzalez/Fernando Morientes, PG.
Raúl could not believe his eyes.
"Sorry about the little mess…" Nando ushered him in quickly.
Little mess? An understatement if there ever was one. This was a disaster area. Boots, coats, moving boxes, suitcases-is that a pizza box over there?-trailed from the door, through the foyer and the room beyond.
"Have you ever cleaned up since you moved here?"
"You know how hard it is to settle in. Victoria has been away for so long with the kids, there’s always this and that. You don’t have to mother me."
Raúl, indignant, opened his mouth to argue but thought the better of it. He stalked over to a sofa, carefully folded all the newspapers there properly, and listened to Nando make a racket in the kitchen.
This trip of his had barely even begun and it was already falling apart. Granted the fact that Nando had training-those English, mad with their football, never wanted a break, even during the Yuletide season-most of the week would have dampened his visit, but Raúl had envisioned their couple of nights together like it used to be, before all the fighting and the missed phone calls and the leaving. This was meant to be a chance to reconnect.
And not in a pigsty.
But the minute he woke up today, things went awry. He had nearly missed his flight in Madrid. Upon his arrival, Nando was nowhere to be found. Their reunion was hardly romantic: they had glowered moodily at each other across the waiting area, Nando having nearly forgotten but stubbornly unwilling to admit it, and Raúl pissed at waiting nearly the same amount of time as the flight.
Then there was the drive home. They had bickered about everything under the sun: tardiness ("Late start. Fucking alarm clocks." "I told you to get a new one." "Fuck you."), the weather ("You should have brought a thicker jacket, you’re going to be cold all weekend." "But it's supposed to be autumn, not fucking winter!" "Well, you’re not visiting bloody Mallorca."), and Nando’s driving ("I’d appreciate it if I don’t end impaled on a traffic pole…" "The bastard just came out of nowhere!" "If you’d stop yelling at me for a second maybe you might be able to pay attention to the fucking road!").
Now, there was this: the immense rubbish dump that was Nando’s house.
Raúl realized with a start that they had not even had a moment to kiss hello. Were these all signs trying to tell them that this trip was just not meant to be?
Raúl sensed the beginnings of a pounding headache.
After an excruciating half an hour, Nando stopped his culinary exploits to check in on Raúl who was moping and surfing through TV stations he couldn’t understand. "Are you upset with me?"
Raúl sighed audibly and shook his head.
"Come have dinner."
"Fireplace?"
"The way you like it," Nando nodded, already on his way back to the kitchen. "I have so much to tell you."
They settled in by the fireplace, plates of salad and tortillas de patatas between them. Raúl poured the wine as Nando talked about his new team mates, the city, learning English and the way people here spoke. Like a little boy, he demonstrated happiness that, months before, seemed nonexistent.
A momentary tug of sadness rushed through his body. Nando had to find this miles away from home.
Noticing his companion’s frown, Nando paused. "Hey," he said, shaking Raúl out of his thoughts. He leaned over their food and gently placed a kiss on his lips. Pulling back, he said, "I’m glad you’re here, you know."
Raúl broke into a beautiful smile, delighting Nando. After that, conversation flowed freely between them the way it used to, like those nights in Madrid when both couldn’t sleep, either in excitement or anxiety, or as those last few months, in sadness.
A few hours and more bottles of wine later, both tipsy and giggling, the two leaned on each other for support as they made their way up the stairs.
Sobering up quickly, Raúl had hoped the disaster zone was confined to the first floor…but no.
He was greeted with an even greater mess in the bedroom. Clothes flung every which way, books, English tapes, scribbled notes on bits of paper, and newspapers in three languages covered every surface available.
Bedsheets were rumpled and there were old boxers draped on the bedstead. Ew.
Nando stripped off where he stood and flung himself into bed, mumbling apologies and muttering about an early practice tomorrow.
Resigned, Raúl crawled in next to him. Instinctively, Nando curled toward him as he threw an arm over his guest, pulling him closer in his sleep.
Raúl sighed, pressed a warm kiss to the other’s temple and shut his eyes.
The next day, Raúl was up early. He had a job to do.
Turning on the coffee machine and popping some bread in the toaster, he got ready for the heavy task that lay before him. Searching through kitchen cabinets, he finally found what he was looking for: some rubber gloves, lots of cleansing liquids and industrial pack of plastic bin-liners.
As he set about throwing old boxes of pizza and other refuse that was littering the kitchen and living area, he heard a resounding crash above his head. "Nando?"
"¡Hijo de puta!"
Raúl giggled. He overslept again. "Morning, amor!"
He received several frustrated grunts in return, mostly along the lines of, "stupid, useless alarm clock!", and the sound of the shower being started.
A little while later, Nando blew into the kitchen. He was suited and ready to go, but seeing Raúl, paused in suspicion. "Why do you have those gloves on?" and then as it dawned on him, "You’re cleaning?!"
Raúl laughed lightly, "Oh stop looking so astonished, I’m only clearing some of your shit up. How can you live like this?" He threw a dirty tea-towel that Nando expertly dodged and bustled about, pouring coffee into a mug and buttering some toast. "Sit."
"Can’t. Late," Nando said, taking the mug from him. "It’ll be five hundred extra push-ups for me if I don’t get going. Rafa makes us have breakfast together, anyway."
"Have a slice at least," and shoved the toast in his mouth before any protest could be made. Suddenly, Raúl bellowed. "Wait!"
Startled, Nando paused, raising an eyebrow.
Raúl’s hands shot forward to straighten the startled striker’s tie. "There," he grinned, finally satisfied.
Nando rolled his eyes, grabbed his duffel and strode out the door toward his car, gulping down the contents of the mug. He placed it on the roof of his car, swallowed the last of his toast, threw his bag in the back and was about to hop in the car himself when he remembered something.
He turned back toward the house, and grabbed Raúl, still standing in the doorway, who yelped in surprise.
"What are you doing? You’ll be late-"
Nando silenced him with a deep kiss.
"Thank you," he said, as he pulled back. He jogged toward the car again, calling behind him. "I’ll see you tonight. Wear something pretty, I’m taking you to dinner."
Raúl laughed and waved from his position, as Nando got in the car and pulled out of the driveway. Then he realised something and gasped. "Nando! The mug-"
Too late.
Forgotten, the mug tumbled off the car and onto the asphalt as he drove away, leaving Raúl shaking his head to contemplate the mess.
Notes:
Inspired by a Guinness advert.
Raúl could not believe his eyes.
"Sorry about the little mess…" Nando ushered him in quickly.
Little mess? An understatement if there ever was one. This was a disaster area. Boots, coats, moving boxes, suitcases-is that a pizza box over there?-trailed from the door, through the foyer and the room beyond.
"Have you ever cleaned up since you moved here?"
"You know how hard it is to settle in. Victoria has been away for so long with the kids, there’s always this and that. You don’t have to mother me."
Raúl, indignant, opened his mouth to argue but thought the better of it. He stalked over to a sofa, carefully folded all the newspapers there properly, and listened to Nando make a racket in the kitchen.
This trip of his had barely even begun and it was already falling apart. Granted the fact that Nando had training-those English, mad with their football, never wanted a break, even during the Yuletide season-most of the week would have dampened his visit, but Raúl had envisioned their couple of nights together like it used to be, before all the fighting and the missed phone calls and the leaving. This was meant to be a chance to reconnect.
And not in a pigsty.
But the minute he woke up today, things went awry. He had nearly missed his flight in Madrid. Upon his arrival, Nando was nowhere to be found. Their reunion was hardly romantic: they had glowered moodily at each other across the waiting area, Nando having nearly forgotten but stubbornly unwilling to admit it, and Raúl pissed at waiting nearly the same amount of time as the flight.
Then there was the drive home. They had bickered about everything under the sun: tardiness ("Late start. Fucking alarm clocks." "I told you to get a new one." "Fuck you."), the weather ("You should have brought a thicker jacket, you’re going to be cold all weekend." "But it's supposed to be autumn, not fucking winter!" "Well, you’re not visiting bloody Mallorca."), and Nando’s driving ("I’d appreciate it if I don’t end impaled on a traffic pole…" "The bastard just came out of nowhere!" "If you’d stop yelling at me for a second maybe you might be able to pay attention to the fucking road!").
Now, there was this: the immense rubbish dump that was Nando’s house.
Raúl realized with a start that they had not even had a moment to kiss hello. Were these all signs trying to tell them that this trip was just not meant to be?
Raúl sensed the beginnings of a pounding headache.
After an excruciating half an hour, Nando stopped his culinary exploits to check in on Raúl who was moping and surfing through TV stations he couldn’t understand. "Are you upset with me?"
Raúl sighed audibly and shook his head.
"Come have dinner."
"Fireplace?"
"The way you like it," Nando nodded, already on his way back to the kitchen. "I have so much to tell you."
They settled in by the fireplace, plates of salad and tortillas de patatas between them. Raúl poured the wine as Nando talked about his new team mates, the city, learning English and the way people here spoke. Like a little boy, he demonstrated happiness that, months before, seemed nonexistent.
A momentary tug of sadness rushed through his body. Nando had to find this miles away from home.
Noticing his companion’s frown, Nando paused. "Hey," he said, shaking Raúl out of his thoughts. He leaned over their food and gently placed a kiss on his lips. Pulling back, he said, "I’m glad you’re here, you know."
Raúl broke into a beautiful smile, delighting Nando. After that, conversation flowed freely between them the way it used to, like those nights in Madrid when both couldn’t sleep, either in excitement or anxiety, or as those last few months, in sadness.
A few hours and more bottles of wine later, both tipsy and giggling, the two leaned on each other for support as they made their way up the stairs.
Sobering up quickly, Raúl had hoped the disaster zone was confined to the first floor…but no.
He was greeted with an even greater mess in the bedroom. Clothes flung every which way, books, English tapes, scribbled notes on bits of paper, and newspapers in three languages covered every surface available.
Bedsheets were rumpled and there were old boxers draped on the bedstead. Ew.
Nando stripped off where he stood and flung himself into bed, mumbling apologies and muttering about an early practice tomorrow.
Resigned, Raúl crawled in next to him. Instinctively, Nando curled toward him as he threw an arm over his guest, pulling him closer in his sleep.
Raúl sighed, pressed a warm kiss to the other’s temple and shut his eyes.
The next day, Raúl was up early. He had a job to do.
Turning on the coffee machine and popping some bread in the toaster, he got ready for the heavy task that lay before him. Searching through kitchen cabinets, he finally found what he was looking for: some rubber gloves, lots of cleansing liquids and industrial pack of plastic bin-liners.
As he set about throwing old boxes of pizza and other refuse that was littering the kitchen and living area, he heard a resounding crash above his head. "Nando?"
"¡Hijo de puta!"
Raúl giggled. He overslept again. "Morning, amor!"
He received several frustrated grunts in return, mostly along the lines of, "stupid, useless alarm clock!", and the sound of the shower being started.
A little while later, Nando blew into the kitchen. He was suited and ready to go, but seeing Raúl, paused in suspicion. "Why do you have those gloves on?" and then as it dawned on him, "You’re cleaning?!"
Raúl laughed lightly, "Oh stop looking so astonished, I’m only clearing some of your shit up. How can you live like this?" He threw a dirty tea-towel that Nando expertly dodged and bustled about, pouring coffee into a mug and buttering some toast. "Sit."
"Can’t. Late," Nando said, taking the mug from him. "It’ll be five hundred extra push-ups for me if I don’t get going. Rafa makes us have breakfast together, anyway."
"Have a slice at least," and shoved the toast in his mouth before any protest could be made. Suddenly, Raúl bellowed. "Wait!"
Startled, Nando paused, raising an eyebrow.
Raúl’s hands shot forward to straighten the startled striker’s tie. "There," he grinned, finally satisfied.
Nando rolled his eyes, grabbed his duffel and strode out the door toward his car, gulping down the contents of the mug. He placed it on the roof of his car, swallowed the last of his toast, threw his bag in the back and was about to hop in the car himself when he remembered something.
He turned back toward the house, and grabbed Raúl, still standing in the doorway, who yelped in surprise.
"What are you doing? You’ll be late-"
Nando silenced him with a deep kiss.
"Thank you," he said, as he pulled back. He jogged toward the car again, calling behind him. "I’ll see you tonight. Wear something pretty, I’m taking you to dinner."
Raúl laughed and waved from his position, as Nando got in the car and pulled out of the driveway. Then he realised something and gasped. "Nando! The mug-"
Too late.
Forgotten, the mug tumbled off the car and onto the asphalt as he drove away, leaving Raúl shaking his head to contemplate the mess.
Notes:
Inspired by a Guinness advert.