to be there
title to be there
prompt 038. touch
word count 377- back to drabbles!
pairing kind of platonic sergio/fernando
rating pg
France is cold, so different from the way Austria had been. But the rush of feelings, the chanting of his team, the way he can almost taste victory when he stops celebrating to breathe for a moment- Sergio closes his eyes and it’s almost like he’s back at the Euro. Except this time it’s his goal, it’s his name his teammates are chanting, and it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.
--
“You were amazing,” Fernando says, his grin warm and sloppy. They’re sitting against the foot of Fernando’s bed, bathed in the flickering light of the television showing highlights from the game, half empty beer bottles sitting around them.
Sergio smiles, takes a sip of the bottle he’s nursing. “Thanks,” he says, and when he blinks, his eyelashes cast long shadows over his cheeks.
“Wish I could’ve done it with you,” Fernando murmurs, the smile slipping a little, and Sergio reaches out, tugs at the corner of Fernando’s mouth with his thumb, desperate to keep the sloppy grin in place because it’s all he needs to make him happy, it so see Fernando’s smile. Fernando obliges, raises his lips into a grin again, but it slips when Sergio (reluctantly) removes his thumb.
“You did,” Sergio mumbles. “You were there, you were.”
“Not like. I know I was there,” Fernando says, swatting lightly at Sergio’s shoulder. His fingers catch on the soft fabric of Sergio’s worn t-shirt and he lets his hand stay there, his pinky slipping in the hole on the seam. He rubs soft circles absently into Sergio’s skin and licks his lips. “But I wasn’t…there.” He takes his free hand and circles Sergio’s wrist with his own, dragging it off of the floor to rest gently, heavily on his knee.
Sergio tugs on the material of Fernando’s sweatpants, insistently, childishly, until the cuff slips over Fernando’s knee, exposing the old scar first and then the two new holes. Fernando squirms, uncomfortable under Sergio’s gaze. Sergio lets go of the sweatpants and circles the new scars with the pads of his fingers, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fixed on them, resolute.
“You were there,” he says quietly, stubbornly, and he covers Fernando’s entire knee with his palm. “With me.”
prompt 038. touch
word count 377- back to drabbles!
pairing kind of platonic sergio/fernando
rating pg
France is cold, so different from the way Austria had been. But the rush of feelings, the chanting of his team, the way he can almost taste victory when he stops celebrating to breathe for a moment- Sergio closes his eyes and it’s almost like he’s back at the Euro. Except this time it’s his goal, it’s his name his teammates are chanting, and it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.
--
“You were amazing,” Fernando says, his grin warm and sloppy. They’re sitting against the foot of Fernando’s bed, bathed in the flickering light of the television showing highlights from the game, half empty beer bottles sitting around them.
Sergio smiles, takes a sip of the bottle he’s nursing. “Thanks,” he says, and when he blinks, his eyelashes cast long shadows over his cheeks.
“Wish I could’ve done it with you,” Fernando murmurs, the smile slipping a little, and Sergio reaches out, tugs at the corner of Fernando’s mouth with his thumb, desperate to keep the sloppy grin in place because it’s all he needs to make him happy, it so see Fernando’s smile. Fernando obliges, raises his lips into a grin again, but it slips when Sergio (reluctantly) removes his thumb.
“You did,” Sergio mumbles. “You were there, you were.”
“Not like. I know I was there,” Fernando says, swatting lightly at Sergio’s shoulder. His fingers catch on the soft fabric of Sergio’s worn t-shirt and he lets his hand stay there, his pinky slipping in the hole on the seam. He rubs soft circles absently into Sergio’s skin and licks his lips. “But I wasn’t…there.” He takes his free hand and circles Sergio’s wrist with his own, dragging it off of the floor to rest gently, heavily on his knee.
Sergio tugs on the material of Fernando’s sweatpants, insistently, childishly, until the cuff slips over Fernando’s knee, exposing the old scar first and then the two new holes. Fernando squirms, uncomfortable under Sergio’s gaze. Sergio lets go of the sweatpants and circles the new scars with the pads of his fingers, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fixed on them, resolute.
“You were there,” he says quietly, stubbornly, and he covers Fernando’s entire knee with his palm. “With me.”