fic: under neon lights
title: under neon lights
pairing: karim benzema/yoann gourcuff
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
written for my footiethemepark table; prompt: white
this talks about religion so i'm a little weary about it. if there are any fallacies please let me know and i will correct them immediately. thank you in advance!
You feel like you’re intruding and guilt seeps into your core. Yet you stay where you are, still leaning against the doorframe that leads into his bedroom. He has invited you over just because he knows you are as bored as he is. He doesn’t extend this offer often and more times than not your meetings with each other are spontaneous and sporadic. And this probably one of the reasons why.
You can’t hear the exact words he’s saying (though you wouldn’t be able to understand the language anyhow) but the low hum of his voice is placating. Your eyes wander over his body and though he’s wearing a white taqiyah on his head it’s not what surprises you. It’s the rest of his outfit - faded blue denim with a plain old t-shirt - that has you seeing him differently, seeing Islam differently.
With his hands outstretched, he lowers himself to his knees before he bends forward and bows with his head to the ground. He straightens his body as he says another prayer before bowing once again. You cannot look away. You just cannot.
You’re a man, a being who is capable of thinking for himself. You know you never give much thought to the beliefs and values of other religions besides your own. You rather emit positivity of what you do know and not negativity of what you don’t. You hold your own faith very close to your heart, ever gracious for all that God has bestowed on you. And though you’ve never been ignorant this display, this pure devotion blows you away.
He slowly rises to his feet once more and finishes off the prayer with a look to above. He’s in his own world, still reciting something under his breath as he removes the taquiyah. Turning around, he freezes as his eyes land upon you and the guilt feels even heavier with his stare.
“K-Karim... I”
He just stares at you, his eyes softening a little as he twists the cap between his hands. He shakes his after a moment before stepping up to you and places the hand that holds his taquiyah against your chest. He tilts his head towards you and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is soft, fleeting.
“Karim...”
He shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it, Yoann.”
The hand on your chest, the one that hold the symbol of his faith, burns against the cross that lies quietly under your shirt on your skin.
pairing: karim benzema/yoann gourcuff
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
written for my footiethemepark table; prompt: white
this talks about religion so i'm a little weary about it. if there are any fallacies please let me know and i will correct them immediately. thank you in advance!
You feel like you’re intruding and guilt seeps into your core. Yet you stay where you are, still leaning against the doorframe that leads into his bedroom. He has invited you over just because he knows you are as bored as he is. He doesn’t extend this offer often and more times than not your meetings with each other are spontaneous and sporadic. And this probably one of the reasons why.
You can’t hear the exact words he’s saying (though you wouldn’t be able to understand the language anyhow) but the low hum of his voice is placating. Your eyes wander over his body and though he’s wearing a white taqiyah on his head it’s not what surprises you. It’s the rest of his outfit - faded blue denim with a plain old t-shirt - that has you seeing him differently, seeing Islam differently.
With his hands outstretched, he lowers himself to his knees before he bends forward and bows with his head to the ground. He straightens his body as he says another prayer before bowing once again. You cannot look away. You just cannot.
You’re a man, a being who is capable of thinking for himself. You know you never give much thought to the beliefs and values of other religions besides your own. You rather emit positivity of what you do know and not negativity of what you don’t. You hold your own faith very close to your heart, ever gracious for all that God has bestowed on you. And though you’ve never been ignorant this display, this pure devotion blows you away.
He slowly rises to his feet once more and finishes off the prayer with a look to above. He’s in his own world, still reciting something under his breath as he removes the taquiyah. Turning around, he freezes as his eyes land upon you and the guilt feels even heavier with his stare.
“K-Karim... I”
He just stares at you, his eyes softening a little as he twists the cap between his hands. He shakes his after a moment before stepping up to you and places the hand that holds his taquiyah against your chest. He tilts his head towards you and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is soft, fleeting.
“Karim...”
He shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it, Yoann.”
The hand on your chest, the one that hold the symbol of his faith, burns against the cross that lies quietly under your shirt on your skin.