broke-down
title broke-down
rating pg-13
pairing sergio ramos/iker casillas
word count 539
prompt 070. storm
note this just hurts. so this is like. therapy. idk.
Sergio wants to kick his locker. He wants to rip the head off of the shower and throw it across the locker room. He wants to scream and hear the echoes reverberate around him until he can’t hear anything else. He wants to go back and try harder, be back in the stadium and make more chances. He wants to take a shot so hard his boot will fly off but it won’t matter because all he’ll be able to hear is the ball swishing into the back of the net.
He doesn’t.
What Sergio does do is quietly make his way back up the tunnel, after he’s showered and everyone else is packing up. He leans against the wall and looks up at the empty, silent Bernabeu and presses his lips together in a thin line. He feels defeated.
Iker’s hand on his shoulder isn’t as surprising as it maybe should be. Sergio turns around, looks at the goalkeeper, and sighs. He feels younger than he has in ages, since joining the national squad, but he still feels the weight of all the years since then, heavy on his shoulders.
“I just thought this year, it could be ours,” he says quietly. Iker nods, still silent. The years are etched clearly into the keeper’s face, and Sergio knows that the lines around his eyes aren’t all from laughing. “Did I curse us? I really thought we could, but. God, Iker, I just want to go back, you know? Try again. Try harder. Play better. Anything.”
Sergio can’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, but they are a fraction of the torrent inside him. His chest feels hollow and his gut feels heavy and he cannot stop talking, but Iker just nods and his hand is still large and comforting on Sergio’s shoulder, so Sergio doesn’t feel too guilty about just letting it all out.
“It’s okay, Serg,” Iker says softly, but his voice is as hollow as Sergio’s chest, and Sergio shakes his head vehemently, wet strands sticking to his cheekbones but he doesn’t reach up to fix them.
“It’s not okay,” he cries out, voice breaking. “It’s not, it’s just not. And I know it and you know it so don’t you dare pretend, don’t say that, it’s not okay, it’ll never be okay until we fix this!”
Iker presses a finger to Sergio’s lips and Sergio falls silent, lips slightly parted, eyes wide.
“There are some things you can’t fix,” Iker whispers, and Sergio feels the fight go out of him, leaving him deflated. He feels his face crumple and Iker removes his finger from Sergio’s lips, instead circling his wrist and dragging him back down the tunnel and into his car.
Iker fucks him that night, hard and fast and angry, and it’s what it always is, a way to get the storm out, to use each other to feel something other than the furious torrent of emotions inside themselves. Sergio will have bruises on his hips and bite marks on his collarbones in the morning but it doesn’t matter, because he can’t ride out this storm by himself, he never has been able to. Not once, not in almost six years.
rating pg-13
pairing sergio ramos/iker casillas
word count 539
prompt 070. storm
note this just hurts. so this is like. therapy. idk.
Sergio wants to kick his locker. He wants to rip the head off of the shower and throw it across the locker room. He wants to scream and hear the echoes reverberate around him until he can’t hear anything else. He wants to go back and try harder, be back in the stadium and make more chances. He wants to take a shot so hard his boot will fly off but it won’t matter because all he’ll be able to hear is the ball swishing into the back of the net.
He doesn’t.
What Sergio does do is quietly make his way back up the tunnel, after he’s showered and everyone else is packing up. He leans against the wall and looks up at the empty, silent Bernabeu and presses his lips together in a thin line. He feels defeated.
Iker’s hand on his shoulder isn’t as surprising as it maybe should be. Sergio turns around, looks at the goalkeeper, and sighs. He feels younger than he has in ages, since joining the national squad, but he still feels the weight of all the years since then, heavy on his shoulders.
“I just thought this year, it could be ours,” he says quietly. Iker nods, still silent. The years are etched clearly into the keeper’s face, and Sergio knows that the lines around his eyes aren’t all from laughing. “Did I curse us? I really thought we could, but. God, Iker, I just want to go back, you know? Try again. Try harder. Play better. Anything.”
Sergio can’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, but they are a fraction of the torrent inside him. His chest feels hollow and his gut feels heavy and he cannot stop talking, but Iker just nods and his hand is still large and comforting on Sergio’s shoulder, so Sergio doesn’t feel too guilty about just letting it all out.
“It’s okay, Serg,” Iker says softly, but his voice is as hollow as Sergio’s chest, and Sergio shakes his head vehemently, wet strands sticking to his cheekbones but he doesn’t reach up to fix them.
“It’s not okay,” he cries out, voice breaking. “It’s not, it’s just not. And I know it and you know it so don’t you dare pretend, don’t say that, it’s not okay, it’ll never be okay until we fix this!”
Iker presses a finger to Sergio’s lips and Sergio falls silent, lips slightly parted, eyes wide.
“There are some things you can’t fix,” Iker whispers, and Sergio feels the fight go out of him, leaving him deflated. He feels his face crumple and Iker removes his finger from Sergio’s lips, instead circling his wrist and dragging him back down the tunnel and into his car.
Iker fucks him that night, hard and fast and angry, and it’s what it always is, a way to get the storm out, to use each other to feel something other than the furious torrent of emotions inside themselves. Sergio will have bruises on his hips and bite marks on his collarbones in the morning but it doesn’t matter, because he can’t ride out this storm by himself, he never has been able to. Not once, not in almost six years.