Can I Stay
Title: Can I Stay
Characters: Sergio Ramos, Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: All fiction
A/N: So I’m currently in the mood for writing (have been for the past few days), which is why I’ve started to write fanfics. I’m probably going to run out of ideas soon, but I’ve still got three weeks left of summer hols to go, let’s see where it takes me (:
You watch his freckles dance across his cheeks in the soft light, as his eyes scan the one-page menu. He looks up, catches you looking at him and he laughs, a little awkwardly.
‘What?’
‘What?’ you say, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t caught you staring at all.
And he blushes, as if he thinks maybe he was being narcissistic, the scarlet tinge to his cheeks unmistakable. ‘Nothing.’
You try to hide your smile; he’s now caught off guard, like you’ve just discovered that he’s committed some outrageous crime. You love how he’s still so apprehensive about your seeing each other. He’s edgy and tense, like a high school boy on his first date with the girl of his dreams.
‘What are you having?’
He fiddles with the corner of his napkin, which is still folded neatly on the table, as if he doesn’t know where to place his hands.
‘Fer, calm down. It’s me. Loosen up, won’t you. You’ll make people think I’m abusing you or summin.’
He attempts to fake a smile, but you know him to well enough to not buy it.
You reach over and tug at his fingers that are still mindlessly playing hide and seek with the napkin so your hand is on his, skin on skin. What you don’t know is you just sent chills up his spine, the poor boy. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
You release his hand, which he thankfully puts away under the table.
You feel sorry that he’s feeling so uncomfortable, but you don’t want to ruin the dinner. You know he much he hates the paparazzi, hates how they intrude on his personal life; they never leave him alone, never let him have his own space.
‘It’s okay, Fer. Nobody will find us here. It’s the quiet side of town, and so out of the way. That’s why I chose this place; I know you don’t like the attention. And if they do find us I’ll make sure I kick the living hell outta them, they’ll never dare to come near you again, ever.’ At this he laughs, a genuine, all teeth, throaty laugh and you smile back, secretly relieved.
‘I’m sorry, Ser. I’m not embarrassed about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t want Olalla to find out - not now, and most certainly not from an article on some gossip website on the internet with pictures taken from behind bushes.’
You know this already deep down, but hearing him say it leaves a warm feeling in your chest, and just reinforces your thoughts on his feelings about your relationship. Because (and this is hard for you to admit to yourself) you’ve never felt this way about anybody before. Sure you have slept with quite a few of girls in your time and you’ve been in relationships before, but nothing has felt quite like this one. There’s something about Fernando, everything in fact, that makes you want walk up to random people on the street and declare your love for him (although every time this feeling creeps into your mind you dismiss it instantaneously firstly because it’s just simply absurd to think anyone, let alone a man, could leave you wanting to sing about rainbows and sunshine, and leave your stomach full of butterflies, and secondly because anyone who knows you or at least knew you before you met Fernando would think it incredulous that you are completely smitten and head over heels in love with somebody, anybody for that matter).
So just the knowledge that he’s happy, that you make him happy (although he doesn’t say it, you can see it, you know that despite his uneasiness he’d sit through dinner with you anywhere and any time, you know that despite his lack of conversation - he’s quiet by nature anyway - that he can be himself around you, that he doesn’t feel the need to pretend to be somebody else, since the both of you are so different) is enough for you.
‘Ser?’
And you look up surprised, suddenly aware that you’ve been lost in your thoughts for goodness knows how long and the man sitting in front of you, the man you love, has a strange look on his face, but also a smile. A beautiful smile.
You sit up straight and give him a confident smile, like the past half hour you spent with your head in the clouds never happened, and then you tap on the menu with your index finger.
‘So then, what did you say you were having?’
And he shakes his head, the smile still plastered on his face, and motions for a waiter to come and take your orders.
Characters: Sergio Ramos, Fernando Torres
Disclaimer: All fiction
A/N: So I’m currently in the mood for writing (have been for the past few days), which is why I’ve started to write fanfics. I’m probably going to run out of ideas soon, but I’ve still got three weeks left of summer hols to go, let’s see where it takes me (:
You watch his freckles dance across his cheeks in the soft light, as his eyes scan the one-page menu. He looks up, catches you looking at him and he laughs, a little awkwardly.
‘What?’
‘What?’ you say, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t caught you staring at all.
And he blushes, as if he thinks maybe he was being narcissistic, the scarlet tinge to his cheeks unmistakable. ‘Nothing.’
You try to hide your smile; he’s now caught off guard, like you’ve just discovered that he’s committed some outrageous crime. You love how he’s still so apprehensive about your seeing each other. He’s edgy and tense, like a high school boy on his first date with the girl of his dreams.
‘What are you having?’
He fiddles with the corner of his napkin, which is still folded neatly on the table, as if he doesn’t know where to place his hands.
‘Fer, calm down. It’s me. Loosen up, won’t you. You’ll make people think I’m abusing you or summin.’
He attempts to fake a smile, but you know him to well enough to not buy it.
You reach over and tug at his fingers that are still mindlessly playing hide and seek with the napkin so your hand is on his, skin on skin. What you don’t know is you just sent chills up his spine, the poor boy. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
You release his hand, which he thankfully puts away under the table.
You feel sorry that he’s feeling so uncomfortable, but you don’t want to ruin the dinner. You know he much he hates the paparazzi, hates how they intrude on his personal life; they never leave him alone, never let him have his own space.
‘It’s okay, Fer. Nobody will find us here. It’s the quiet side of town, and so out of the way. That’s why I chose this place; I know you don’t like the attention. And if they do find us I’ll make sure I kick the living hell outta them, they’ll never dare to come near you again, ever.’ At this he laughs, a genuine, all teeth, throaty laugh and you smile back, secretly relieved.
‘I’m sorry, Ser. I’m not embarrassed about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t want Olalla to find out - not now, and most certainly not from an article on some gossip website on the internet with pictures taken from behind bushes.’
You know this already deep down, but hearing him say it leaves a warm feeling in your chest, and just reinforces your thoughts on his feelings about your relationship. Because (and this is hard for you to admit to yourself) you’ve never felt this way about anybody before. Sure you have slept with quite a few of girls in your time and you’ve been in relationships before, but nothing has felt quite like this one. There’s something about Fernando, everything in fact, that makes you want walk up to random people on the street and declare your love for him (although every time this feeling creeps into your mind you dismiss it instantaneously firstly because it’s just simply absurd to think anyone, let alone a man, could leave you wanting to sing about rainbows and sunshine, and leave your stomach full of butterflies, and secondly because anyone who knows you or at least knew you before you met Fernando would think it incredulous that you are completely smitten and head over heels in love with somebody, anybody for that matter).
So just the knowledge that he’s happy, that you make him happy (although he doesn’t say it, you can see it, you know that despite his uneasiness he’d sit through dinner with you anywhere and any time, you know that despite his lack of conversation - he’s quiet by nature anyway - that he can be himself around you, that he doesn’t feel the need to pretend to be somebody else, since the both of you are so different) is enough for you.
‘Ser?’
And you look up surprised, suddenly aware that you’ve been lost in your thoughts for goodness knows how long and the man sitting in front of you, the man you love, has a strange look on his face, but also a smile. A beautiful smile.
You sit up straight and give him a confident smile, like the past half hour you spent with your head in the clouds never happened, and then you tap on the menu with your index finger.
‘So then, what did you say you were having?’
And he shakes his head, the smile still plastered on his face, and motions for a waiter to come and take your orders.