fact
title fact
word count 301
prompt 009. germany
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres
rating MORE FLUFF. PG.
summary sergio isn't trying to comfort fernando. really.
“I don’t like being in the tunnel without you.”
Fernando grunts and wraps himself more snugly in his comforter. The T.V. is on, bathing the semi-dark room in blue light, and the news reporter is saying something about the match. Fernando huffs and starts flipping through channels.
“Are you okay? Say something, please.”
Sergio’s eyes are big and liquid brown when Fernando rolls over in his cocoon of comforters to face the defender. He clenches his jaw when the Sevillan reaches out to stroke his face.
“If you’re saying that shit to make me feel better, it isn’t working,” Fernando tells him, stabbing angrily at the buttons on the remote. “So you can save it.”
Sergio growls in frustration and launches himself at the striker, rolling him over and settling on his stomach, pushing the blankets away from Fernando’s upper body. He pushes Fernando’s shoulders down as the striker starts to wriggle and shakes his head.
“I’m not saying to make you feel better. I’m saying it as a fact. I don’t like it. I’m not stupid, Fer, I know you. The only thing that’s gonna make you feel better is scoring a goal, I know that. So give me some fucking credit here, okay?”
Fernando blinks up at him and the cold, defensive mask slips away, his eyes turning watery and his jaw relaxing. Sergio presses down on him, blanketing him with his body, and nuzzles his face into Fernando’s neck. He turns up to kiss the striker’s cheek.
“I don’t know if I even remember how,” Fernando whispers, and he sounds so broken that Sergio can’t do anything but wrap his arms around the striker and hold him tight.
“It’s like riding a bike,” he whispers. “You never forget. Remember the Euro? You’ll get your goal.”
“Yeah?”
“I promise.”
word count 301
prompt 009. germany
pairing sergio ramos/fernando torres
rating MORE FLUFF. PG.
summary sergio isn't trying to comfort fernando. really.
“I don’t like being in the tunnel without you.”
Fernando grunts and wraps himself more snugly in his comforter. The T.V. is on, bathing the semi-dark room in blue light, and the news reporter is saying something about the match. Fernando huffs and starts flipping through channels.
“Are you okay? Say something, please.”
Sergio’s eyes are big and liquid brown when Fernando rolls over in his cocoon of comforters to face the defender. He clenches his jaw when the Sevillan reaches out to stroke his face.
“If you’re saying that shit to make me feel better, it isn’t working,” Fernando tells him, stabbing angrily at the buttons on the remote. “So you can save it.”
Sergio growls in frustration and launches himself at the striker, rolling him over and settling on his stomach, pushing the blankets away from Fernando’s upper body. He pushes Fernando’s shoulders down as the striker starts to wriggle and shakes his head.
“I’m not saying to make you feel better. I’m saying it as a fact. I don’t like it. I’m not stupid, Fer, I know you. The only thing that’s gonna make you feel better is scoring a goal, I know that. So give me some fucking credit here, okay?”
Fernando blinks up at him and the cold, defensive mask slips away, his eyes turning watery and his jaw relaxing. Sergio presses down on him, blanketing him with his body, and nuzzles his face into Fernando’s neck. He turns up to kiss the striker’s cheek.
“I don’t know if I even remember how,” Fernando whispers, and he sounds so broken that Sergio can’t do anything but wrap his arms around the striker and hold him tight.
“It’s like riding a bike,” he whispers. “You never forget. Remember the Euro? You’ll get your goal.”
“Yeah?”
“I promise.”