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dfotwTitle: Idiots
Summary: Javi is sad, Fernando gets angry, they're both idiots.
Pairing: Fernando Llorente/Javi Martínez
Warnings: Slash, angst, drama-drama-melodrama.
Wordcount: 4900
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it. No disrespect meant to any person whose likeness apears here.
A/N: for the sweetest person I've met thanks to this fandom,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
txorakeriak, who wanted to see these two written, and hammered the point home with great picspams; I'm sorry, I know this isn't what you expected, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!
Thanks toladyvoldie for patiently listening to me ramble as I got this written.
Javi never wanted this. He had tried to ignore it at the beginning, and when it started taking hold, he had done all he could to avoid it. He had never, ever courted it.
And yet, there it was.
Better said, there he was.
Fernando Llorente, all six feet and a bit of him, shirtless, smiling, blond hair looking soft as feathers under the sun. He turned those gorgeous eyes of his towards Javi and said something, and Javi only managed a weak smile before turning around and, as discreetly as he could, smacking his head against his locker.
There was no point in asking himself what was wrong with him. It was more than clear. And there was no point asking why. Anyone with at least one working sense would fall for Fernando after five minutes of meeting him.
It was just his damn luck, really. He did everything well, he had luck on his side, he made the first team and La Selección before his 22nd birthday, and then he went and spoilt it all by making the most idiotic mistake in all the history of idiotic ways in which footballers had ruined their careers: by developing a heart-stopping crush on one of his teammates.
And not just any of this teammates, either. He had to aim for the most beautiful, the most successful, the most kind-hearted… the most unattainable, in a word. If there was in the world one footballer who would look at Javi and not run in the opposite direction, that one certainly couldn’t be Fernando Llorente.
Not because Fernando didn’t like Javi. On the contrary, he liked Javi a bit too much. They were friends, they were good friends, and they spent more time together than was healthy for Javi’s mental health and composure.
It had gotten to the point where he was glad of all those times he had been sent to help along the U21s instead of going with the senior NT, because it was time spent away from Fernando. In Bilbao there was no way to avoid him (Javi couldn’t bring himself to say ‘no’ when the offer came to spend more time together, although he knew he should), and in La Selección even less, because they were teammates amongst teammates and thus expected to stick together.
But when they went their separate ways, Javi felt like he could breathe again. As if he had left his guilt in the locker at San Mamés and all that was left was a 22-year-old without a care in the world. He almost didn’t recognise himself when he was away from Fernando; he felt like a better, happier person.
Sometimes, late at night, Javi thought that the happy-go-lucky guy he was away from Fernando was, coincidentally, a bit more likely (in amongst the whole unlikeliness of it all) to attract him than the tortured, jumpy boy with the fake smiles than he was at Bilbao.
He had tried... oh, how he had tried! Once he had seen there was no way out of the trap his heart had set him, once he had lost the fight with himself to stop it, he had tried to become more appealing to Fernando, against his better judgement. In behaviour more befitting of a madman, the sensible part of his brain had watched in horror as Javi’s bumbling hope had tried to change his music tastes, bring up subjects in conversation of which he knew nothing, make him laugh at things he really didn’t find funny, and, in short, build him a different personality.
Fernando, of course, had simply found this funny, mocked him gently, and floated away, unknowing of how he was the cause of his friend’s strange behaviour.
And so he was now, without hope, trudging along every day with the weight of his foolishness heavy on his shoulders.
-¿Vamos por una caña? (Are we going for a beer?) –asked Fernando, raising his eyebrows, with the smile of one who knows the answer was always going to be ‘yes’.
-... no –sighed Javi, looking down at his untied shoes.
-¿Has dicho que no? (Did you say ‘no’?)
-No tengo ganas. (I don’t feel like it.)
Javi didn’t look up, but he clearly felt Fernando blinking at him.
-Vamos, tío. (Come on, man.)
-Ya te he dicho que no. (I said no.)
-No, mira, tienes que venir. (No, man, look, you have to come.) –Fernando sat next to him-. Porque antes era sólo para ir a tomarnos unas cañas y ya está, pero ahora… jo, ahora tenemos que hablar. ¿Qué coño te pasa? (Because it was just going to be us having a couple of beers, but now… damn, now we need to talk. What the hell is wrong with you?)
-Nada. (Nothing.)
-Y una mierda nada. (The hell it’s nothing.)
Javi felt his hands clench.
-No tengo ganas. (I don’t feel like it.) –he repeated weakly.
-¿Por qué? (Why?)
Javi shrugged. He’d never been addicted to anything (really, not even to football), but trying to resist Fernando was like he thought trying to resist an addiction felt like.
-Javi… -Fernando’s voice sounded concerned, and Javi forced himself to not look up, because he knew that if he did, he’d just melt, and agree with whatever, and end up spending the afternoon trying to reassure Fernando that he was alright.
He, of course, hadn’t counted with his friend’s persistence, or with how much Fernando knew him (and why, asked his heart, if he knew him so well, couldn’t he see how much Javi pined for him?!). He felt a hand under his chin, lifting his face gently.
-Javi.
Nothing more. Just one word, and Fernando’s blue eyes boring into his. Javi almost felt like crying. Instead, he closed his own eyes and told himself to breathe. He hated feeling so vulnerable whenever Fernando was around, and he hated how the other man could look at him, hold his heart in the palm of his hand, and still not see what Javi was so bad at hiding.
-Vale. Dame un minuto, que me ato las zapatillas. (Alright. Give me a minute so I can tie my shoes.)
Fernando drove in silence, carefully, towards their favourite bar, the one with the 24/7 sports channel and the best pintxos in town. Javi was slumped in the passenger’s seat, looking stubbornly out of the window, every inch of his body screaming that he did not want to be where he was.
He felt a bit guilty for dragging his friend with him, but it was obvious that there was something wrong with him, and Fernando would be a horrible friend if he just let him sulk without trying to talk to him, wouldn’t he?
Ah, who was he trying to kid? He was a horrible friend anyway. Strictly speaking, even, he wasn’t so much a friend as a fake. Trying to get close to Javi, to make him laugh, to make himself indispensable, and all because he didn’t know any other way he could get his attention. Not that it had worked, of course. It seemed like the more Fernando tried to get close the Javi, the more Javi closed up.
There were times Fernando was afraid that Javi had seen right through him and was, in his own way, trying to let him down gently.
Not that Fernando was ashamed of how he felt. He fancied Javi, but who wouldn’t? I mean, the guy was cute, smart, good-natured, with a great sense of humour and the sweetest pair of brown eyes Fernando had ever seen (and he had owned several puppies). It’d have been more surprising if Fernando hadn’t fallen for him, all things considered.
And if that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, with them being professional footballers and all, well, who was anyone to tell them how the matters of the heart were supposed to go? Fernando felt what he felt, and that was that.
Now, if he managed to ruin his friendship with Javi because of his own selfish feelings, *then* he’d feel guilty.
Maybe Javi wanted to be alone. Maybe he hadn’t been lying (and badly, at that) when he’d said he didn’t feel like it. Maybe Fernando was making things worse.
-Igual están dando el resumen de la Serie A cuando lleguemos al bar (Maybe we’ll get to watch the Serie A summary at the bar) –said Javi at last, giving a look at his watch.
Those were the first words he’d said since they’d gotten in the car, and Fernando felt a surge of optimism: maybe things weren’t as dire as he’d thought.
-E igual tienen los pintxos esos de anchoas, horribles, que te gustan. (And maybe they’ll have those disgusting anchovy pintxos you like.)
-Están buenísimos. Que tú no tengas buen gusto es otra cosa. (They’re delicious. You having no taste is something else.)
Fernando smiled at the usual banter, and when he looked away from the road for a second, he saw Javi was grinning too. His heart felt lighter at this.
Once they were settled at their usual table at the bar (hidden away in a dark corner, and yet with the best view of the TV, and zealously kept for them by the owner, a die-hard Athletic fan), with one eye on the Serie A report and a caña and a plateful of pintxos each, Fernando looked at Javi again.
He had dark bags under his eyes and a bitter turn to the corner of his mouth.
-Javi…
-¿Hm? –replied Javi, his eyes glued to Cavani’s hat-trick on the TV-. Joder con el uruguayo, ¿has visto? Y parecía tonto… (Damn with the Uruguayan, did you see that? And he looked like a fool…)
-Javi.
-¿Qué pasa? (What is it?)
Fernando looked at him.
-Eso te quería preguntar… ¿qué pasa? (That’s what I wanted to ask you… what is it?)
-Joder, tío, ¿sigues con lo mismo? No pasa nada. (Oh, man, are you still going on about it? It’s nothing.)
-No me fastidies, Javi, ¿cómo que no pasa nada? ¿Me crees tonto, o qué? (Don’t do that, Javi, what do you mean it’s nothing? Do you think I’m an idiot, or what?)
Javi bit his lip, like yes, he was just refraining from calling Fernando an idiot.
-Estoy bien. (I’m fine.)
-Una mierda que estás bien. (The hell you’re fine.)
Javi sighed heavily.
-Fer, no es nada importante… (Fer, it’s nothing important.)
Fernando was quick to pounce on his friend’s mistake, like he would on a rival defender’s.
-¿Lo ves? ¡Sabía que te pasaba algo! De aquí no sales hasta que no me lo hayas contando, hombre, que no puede ser para tanto… (See? I knew there was something! You’re not leaving until you tell me what it is, it can’t be that bad…)
Javi’s usually generous (and tempting) mouth turned into a tight line.
-Fernando, déjalo, ¿quieres? (Fernando, leave it, will you?)
Fernando was taken aback both at Javi’s hard tone of voice and at how he had used his whole name, which he hadn't done since... since they'd met.
-Tío, sólo quiero ayudar… (Man, I only want to help…)
-Ayudas más quedándote callado, ¿sabes? (You’d help more by keeping quiet, you know?) –Javi said snidely.
-Hombre, Javi, no te pongas así… (Alright, Javi, don’t be like that…)
-No tengo por qué contarte todo lo que me pasa. (I don’t have to tell you everything that happens to me.)
-Yo… (I…)
-Tengo problemas que tú no sabes, cosas de las que no tienes ni idea… (I have problems you don’t know, things you have no idea about…)
-Pero… (But…)
-Y no tengo que darte explicaciones por nada. (And I don’t have to explain myself to you.)
This time, Fernando waited until it became obvious that Javi wasn’t going to interrupt him again.
-¿Ya está? ¿Ya has terminado? Porque ahora, si no te importa, *Javier*, me gustaría hablar a mí. Todo lo que has dicho podrá ser cierto, pero te olvidas que somos amigos, y los amigos se cuentan las cosas y se ayudan. Y es lo que estoy intentando hacer. Si no te importa, vamos. (Alright? Are you done now? Because, if you don’t mind, *Javier*, I’d like to take the chance to speak. All you just said might be true, but you forget we’re friends and friends tell each other things and help each other. Which is what I’m trying to do. If you don’t mind, of course.)
-Tío, no puedes hacer nada. (Man, you can’t do anything.)
-¿Por qué no me dejas decidir eso a mí? (Why don’t you let me decide that?)
-Porque… porque no, joder, Fer, porque no… (Because… because you can’t, Fer, just no…)
-Magnífico argumento. (Great argument.)
All of Fernando’s bitterness and frustration melted away when Javi dropped his head between his hands.
-Javi, coño, ¿qué te pasa? (Damn it, Javi, what’s wrong?) –he asked in the softest tone of voice he could manage.
-Es… (It’s…)
-¿Es algo del equipo? ¿Va algo mal? ¿Estás lesionado o algo? (Is it something with the team? Is there something wrong? Are you injured or something?)
-No, no es nada de eso… (No, nothing like that…)
-¿Es por la Selección, entonces? Porque ya sabes que no te llamaron porque dijiste que querías irte con la sub-21, que si no… (Is it about the nacional team, then? Because you know you weren’t called up because you said you wanted to go with the U21s, because if you hadn’t…)
-No, no es eso… (No, it’s not that…)
-Esto no va de fútbol, ¿verdad? (It’s not about football, is it?) –Javi, after a moment’s hesitation, shook his head as well as he could in his position-. Dame una pista, entonces… ¿familia, amigos… chicas? (Give me a clue, then… family, friends… girls?)
He had been afraid to ask, and rightly so. There was no mistaking the way Javi’s shoulders stiffened at the last word. Fernando took a deep drink from his beer before he spoke again.
-Vale, así que tienes problemas con una chica… (Alright, so you’re in trouble over some girl…)
-No precisamente… (Not exactly…)
-¿*Quieres* tener problemas con una chica? (You *want* to be in trouble over some girl?) –Fernando tried to keep his tone light and his smile in place, but it felt like each word burnt his lips.
He knew it’d come to this. He had been dreading the day that, in his innocence, Javi would come to him in search of advice when a lucky girl caught his eye, and still, he had persisted in trying to earn his trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, there was nothing but to smile and try his best to make Javi happy in the only way he could.
-Es… complicado (It’s… complicated) –said Javi, turning to his caña for help.
-Siempre lo es. (It always is.) –Fernando wanted to rip his own smile from his lips-. ¿Qué pasa, que no le van los campeones del mundo, o qué? (What is it, that she doesn’t like world champions, or what?)
Javi’s eyes were so sad when he finally looked at Fernando that he wanted to go back in time and swallow all his poor attempts at jokes.
-No… no le van los tíos como yo… (No… she doesn’t go for guys like me…)
-¿Cómo tú? ¿No le van los tíos listos, amables y guapos? No me digas que te has enamorado de una idiota, Javi… (Like you? She doesn’t go for smart, kind, handsome guys? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for an idiot, Javi…)
Javi stared at him, and rather belatedly, Fernando realised how inappropriately enthusiastic his comment had been.
-Quiero decir, eres un gran tío, joder, y si ella no ve eso… (I mean, you’re a great guy, damn it, and if she can’t see that…)
-Cállate, Fer. (Shut up, Fer.)
Javi once again had hid his face between his hands, and if his voice was any indication, he was about to cry if he wasn’t already there.
Fernando gave a quick look around to make sure that no one was paying them the least amount of attention, and slid into the chair next to Javi, putting an arm around his shoulders.
Fernando’s concerned embrace nearly did Javi in. He held onto what was left of him composure by sheer strength of will, and by reminding himself that he’d never forgive himself if he started crying in front of Fer.
-Estoy bien (I’m fine) –he said, more to himself than to Fer.
-Javi, si hay algo que pueda hacer… (Javi, if there’s anything I can do…)
Javi surprised even himself by the bitter quality of his laugh.
-No, Fer –he replied, well aware of how unintentionally cruel Fernando’s words were-. Pero gracias… (But thanks…)
-¿Te llevo a casa, entonces? (Let me drive you home, then?)
Javi nodded, and let Fernando go and pay for their drinks, over the owner’s usual protestations (‘Pero si sois de la casa… déjalo, hijo, no insistas, que aquí a los del Athletic no se les cobra… vale, venga, pero sólo esta vez, ¿eh?’ ‘But you’re like family… leave it, son, don’t try, we don’t charge anyone from Athletic here… alright, fine, but just this once, eh?’). He felt worse than pathetic at his breakdown. He knew he should have avoided Fernando and his questions, but he had been weak, he had given in, and now Fer must think he was a pathetic wreck.
-Venga, vamos (Come on, let’s go) –said Fernando, smiling at him like nothing had happened, like they had just had a few drinks like they did every few days.
Javi let himself hope, for a few minutes at least, that Fer would just let it go and pretend the conversation hadn’t taken place, but after the third time that the striker took his eyes off the road to give him a quick, worried glance, he filed that hope away with all the others that would never come true.
-¿Quieres subir? (Do you want to come in?) –he asked half-heartedly when Fernando parked in front of his building, like every time they did this.
-¡Claro! (Of course!) –Fernando answered, sinking the last of Javi’s hopes that he would be allowed to have a good mope.
They walked into Javi’s bachelor flat and Fernando immediately made a beeline for the fridge.
-¿Tu madre te ha dejado tapers? (Did you mum leave you any food?) –he asked-. ¡Oh, tortilla!
-Sigue, hombre, sigue, como si estuvieses en tu casa (Go on, then, act as if this was your own house) –Javi teased him, looking for a plate to put the tortilla in the microwave.
-Lo es. No te olvides que te ayudé a mudarte. (It is. Don’t forget I helped you move.)
-Un sofá. Me ayudaste a subir un sofá, y estuviste quejándote todo el camino. Señor, lo que tengo que aguantar… (One sofa. You helped me move one sofa, and you complained all the way. Good lord, what I have to suffer…)
-Eh, ¿para qué están los amigos si no? (Hey, what are friends for?)
-¿Para quejarse? Pues genial… (To complain? Great…)
Fernando closed the microwave and grinned at him. He looked like he belonged there, in Javi’s own home, with the sunlight hitting his golden hair just so; Javi’s heart was still raw from their previous conversation, and so all he could manage was to turn away just in time to hide the first tears.
-Hey…
He burrowed into Fernando’s hug like he would after the saddest, most bitter of defeats, and rested his head on Fer’s shoulder.
‘Just one moment,’ he told his mind, which was protesting loudly. ‘Just for once, let me have this. I’ll pay for it later, I know. Just one moment’.
-Javi... –Fernando whispered in his ear-. Joder, Javi... (Damn, Javi…)
-Lo siento… (Sorry…) –he sniffled, trying to disentangle himself from Fernando’s arms.
-Eh, ¿a dónde vas? (Eh, where are you going?) –With great skill, Fernando managed to keep an arm around Javi while with the other hand he fished for a paper towel to use as a tissue.
-Gracias... lo siento… (Thanks... sorry…) –Javi repeated, blowing his nose and still trying (unsuccessfully) to get away.
-No pasa nada… ¿estás bien? (It’s nothing… are you alright?)
Javi nodded. Fernando was still hugging him, and ignoring resolutely Javi’s discreet attempts to move away.
-Javi, tío, no me gusta verte así… (Javi, man, I don’t like to see you like this…)
-Un poco patético, ¿verdad? (A bit pathetic, isn’t it?) –Javi tried to joke, abandoning all discretion in trying to get away from Fernando, who was toocloseohgodIcan’tbreathe.
-No, joder, no eso. (No, damn it, it’s not that) –Fernando tightened his hold on Javi-. Estáte quieto, ¿quieres? (Stay still, will you?)
Javi subsided into the hug, so tense that he felt that a shiver would shatter him into pieces.
Fernando forced himself to loosen his hold on Javi a little, careful in case his teammate decided to bolt all of a sudden. He was so angry, so goddamned angry, that he didn’t know what to say.
-No vale la pena (It’s not worth it) –he managed at last-. En serio, Javi, sea quien sea, no vale la pena que te pongas así por ella. (Really, Javi, whoever she is, it’s not worth for you to get like this over her.)
-Fer…
-¡Escúchame! (Listen to me!) –Fernando paused when he saw Javi’s wide eyes staring at him; in his frustration, he had grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him a bit-. Joder, lo siento… (Damn, I’m sorry…)
Fernando carefully stepped away and took a deep breath. He was ruining it. He was spoiling it all, Javi’s trust, their *friendship*, and all over some stupid girl too young or too blind to know what treasure she had in Javi.
Jealousy was eating him inside, turning his love for Javi into a bitter, twisted thing. He felt old and angry and helpless to hold onto what he couldn’t even say he had.
-Eres un crío (You’re a kid) –he said-. Y te has montado ahora una peli dramática y te estás comiendo la cabeza, y no tienes ni puta idea… no es para tanto, Javi. No vale la pena. (You’re playing this great dramatic movie in your head, and you’re getting ideas, and you don’t have the least fucking idea… it’s not that bad, Javi. And it’s not worth it.)
He had his back turned to Javi, and he couldn’t see how his face, pale and shaken until then, started to turn red.
-Tío, te estás pasando. (Man, you’re pushing it.)
-No… -Fernando turned around, realising too late what he had done.
-No soy un crío, y no me merezco que me trates así (I’m not a kid and I don’t deserve you treating me like this) –Javi continued-. Si te parece que mis problemas son una mierda, pues mira, peor para mí, ¿no? Pero, ¡no me vengas primero con que somos amigos y tenemos que hablarlo todo, y después con este tonito de superioridad! (If you think my troubles are shit, then fine, I suck, right? But don’t come talking to me about how we’re friends and we have to talk about everything, and then get all superior on me!)
Fernando opened his mouth, and then realised he didn’t know what to say.
-Y mira, no tienes ni puta idea ni de la mitad de las cosas que me pasan por la cabeza, ¿sabes? Y no esperes que te lo cuente ahora, después de cómo te has puesto… porque no sé, parece que piensas que soy un imbécil que todavía cree en los Reyes, y… y la verdad es que puede que sea cierto, puede que yo sea un imbécil, pero así es como me siento y no tienes ningún derecho a juzgarme… (And look, you don’t have the least fucking idea of even half of the stuff that goes through my head, you know? And don’t expect me to tell you now, after how you’ve got… because, I don’t know, it seems you think I’m an idiot who still believes in Santa and… and maybe it’s true, maybe I am an idiot, but that’s how I feel and you don’t have any right to judge me…) -Javi stopped to take a huge breath-. Y no es fácil, Fer, no es fácil sentirse así… (And it’s not easy, Fer, it’s not easy to feel like this…)
‘Guilt’ was such a small word, thought Fernando. ‘Remorse’ and ‘regret’, too. Tiny words that couldn’t express even half of how miserable he felt right now, watching Javi gesture wildly, so angry now that all his earlier misery seemed to have evaporated, except that when he looked at Fernando, his eyes were still so sad…
-No es fácil y yo lo he intentado, te juro que lo he intentado… he intentado no sentirme así, y he intentado guardármelo, y… y no puedo. No puedo. (It’s not easy and I’ve tried, I swear that I’ve tried… I’ve tried not feeling like this, and I’ve tried keeping it to myself, and… and I can’t. I can’t.)
-Javi… -Fernando cleared his throat-. Javi, tío, perdóname… (Javi, man, forgive me…)
-¡No me importa! Te has enfadado y ya está, se te pasará y a mí se me olvidará porque sé que no lo haces por joder, que lo haces por cuidarme… (I don’t care! You got mad and that’s that, you’ll get over it and I’ll forget it because I know you don’t do it to spite me, that you do it to take care of me…) –Javi was pacing now, running into the kitchen isle every so often because the space was too small to contain his agitation-. Pero me duele, Fer, me duele que me veas así, porque esto significa tanto para mí y tú… (But it hurts, Fer, it hurts that you see me like that, because this means so much to me and you…)
Only Fernando’s remorse at being the one responsible for this outburst held him from going to hug Javi again when the younger man laughed, and it sounded so bitter and broken.
-Ya sabía que te iba a parecer una estupidez, en el mejor de los casos. Lo sabía, ¿vale? Por eso es en parte por lo que no te lo dije… bueno, eso y porque soy un cobarde de cojones… pero… joder, Fer, lo siento. Lo siento, soy así y te quiero y ya sé que es una locura y una estupidez, y que no vale la pena, y que no es para tanto, y todo lo que has dicho, pero… ¿qué le voy a hacer? Eres tú, no una chica cualquiera de la que pueda intentar olvidarme… (I knew you’d think it’s stupid at best. I knew, alright? That’s why I didn’t tell you… well, that and because I’m a fucking coward… but… I’m sorry, Fer. I’m sorry, I’m like that and I love you and I know it’s mad and stupid, and not worth it and not that bad and all you said, but… what can I do? It’s you, not just some girl I could try to forget…)
Silence. Silence and Fernando’s blood roaring in his ears like the roar of San Mamés when he scored.
-¿Qué has dicho? (What did you say?) –he asked, his voice (flat, toneless) the complete opposite of what he was feeling.
-Lo siento. (I’m sorry.) –Javi came down from his self-righteous high and slumped into a chair, looking so miserable that his previous state (before talking to Fernando) seemed downright cheerful in comparison-. Ya lo sabes. No… lo siento. (Now you know. Don’t… I’m sorry.)
-Javi…
There was enough guilt hanging from his shoulders that Fernando could’ve remained standing where he was for the rest of his life, but the sight of Javi so miserable was stronger than all of his regrets put together.
-Javi. –He didn’t know what to say, but he framed Javi’s face in his hands and looked into those wonderful, sweet, tortured eyes.
-¿Fer?
Fernando could have laughed at his stupidity, at Javi’s, at both of them. In fact, he might have laughed a little as he leaned in and brushed his lips against those that had been tempting him for so long.
-Idiota (Idiot) –he whispered against those lips-. ¿Cómo puedes…? (How can you…?) –Another kiss, lingering, questioning-. ¿… creer que esto no vale la pena? (… think this isn’t worth it?) –Another kiss, longer now that Javi was starting to react-. No me hagas caso cuando digo tonterías. (Don’t mind me when I’m acting like a fool.)
Javi was, slowly, warming up to the kisses, but after a moment he backed away and stared a Fernando, his eyes huge in his face.
-¿Tú…? (You...?)
Fernando had to laugh now, and he did, pulling Javi close so he could press their foreheads together. Relief was bubbling through his veins, better than fine champagne and a last-minute winner put together.
-Somos un par de idiotas (We’re a couple of idiots) –he confirmed-. Yo celoso, tú montándote un drama… (I was jealous, you were getting all dramatic…)
-¿Celoso de quién? (Jealous of who?)
-De cualquiera, de quien fuese que te tuviese así… (Of anyone, of whoever had you like that…)
-¿Estabas celoso *de ti mismo*? (You were jealous of *yourself*?)
-Ya te he dicho que somos un par de idiotas. (I told you we were idiots.)
Finally Javi lost the wide-eyed look and laughed along with Fernando, and their kisses were no less sweet because they were occasionally interrupted by a random giggle and a murmur of ‘idiotas’.
The End...
Hope you liked it, feedback is welcomed, adored, and fed expensive chocolate!
Summary: Javi is sad, Fernando gets angry, they're both idiots.
Pairing: Fernando Llorente/Javi Martínez
Warnings: Slash, angst, drama-drama-melodrama.
Wordcount: 4900
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimers: this isn't true and I don't make any money with it. No disrespect meant to any person whose likeness apears here.
A/N: for the sweetest person I've met thanks to this fandom,
txorakeriak, who wanted to see these two written, and hammered the point home with great picspams; I'm sorry, I know this isn't what you expected, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!Thanks to
ladyvoldie for patiently listening to me ramble as I got this written.Javi never wanted this. He had tried to ignore it at the beginning, and when it started taking hold, he had done all he could to avoid it. He had never, ever courted it.
And yet, there it was.
Better said, there he was.
Fernando Llorente, all six feet and a bit of him, shirtless, smiling, blond hair looking soft as feathers under the sun. He turned those gorgeous eyes of his towards Javi and said something, and Javi only managed a weak smile before turning around and, as discreetly as he could, smacking his head against his locker.
There was no point in asking himself what was wrong with him. It was more than clear. And there was no point asking why. Anyone with at least one working sense would fall for Fernando after five minutes of meeting him.
It was just his damn luck, really. He did everything well, he had luck on his side, he made the first team and La Selección before his 22nd birthday, and then he went and spoilt it all by making the most idiotic mistake in all the history of idiotic ways in which footballers had ruined their careers: by developing a heart-stopping crush on one of his teammates.
And not just any of this teammates, either. He had to aim for the most beautiful, the most successful, the most kind-hearted… the most unattainable, in a word. If there was in the world one footballer who would look at Javi and not run in the opposite direction, that one certainly couldn’t be Fernando Llorente.
Not because Fernando didn’t like Javi. On the contrary, he liked Javi a bit too much. They were friends, they were good friends, and they spent more time together than was healthy for Javi’s mental health and composure.
It had gotten to the point where he was glad of all those times he had been sent to help along the U21s instead of going with the senior NT, because it was time spent away from Fernando. In Bilbao there was no way to avoid him (Javi couldn’t bring himself to say ‘no’ when the offer came to spend more time together, although he knew he should), and in La Selección even less, because they were teammates amongst teammates and thus expected to stick together.
But when they went their separate ways, Javi felt like he could breathe again. As if he had left his guilt in the locker at San Mamés and all that was left was a 22-year-old without a care in the world. He almost didn’t recognise himself when he was away from Fernando; he felt like a better, happier person.
Sometimes, late at night, Javi thought that the happy-go-lucky guy he was away from Fernando was, coincidentally, a bit more likely (in amongst the whole unlikeliness of it all) to attract him than the tortured, jumpy boy with the fake smiles than he was at Bilbao.
He had tried... oh, how he had tried! Once he had seen there was no way out of the trap his heart had set him, once he had lost the fight with himself to stop it, he had tried to become more appealing to Fernando, against his better judgement. In behaviour more befitting of a madman, the sensible part of his brain had watched in horror as Javi’s bumbling hope had tried to change his music tastes, bring up subjects in conversation of which he knew nothing, make him laugh at things he really didn’t find funny, and, in short, build him a different personality.
Fernando, of course, had simply found this funny, mocked him gently, and floated away, unknowing of how he was the cause of his friend’s strange behaviour.
And so he was now, without hope, trudging along every day with the weight of his foolishness heavy on his shoulders.
-¿Vamos por una caña? (Are we going for a beer?) –asked Fernando, raising his eyebrows, with the smile of one who knows the answer was always going to be ‘yes’.
-... no –sighed Javi, looking down at his untied shoes.
-¿Has dicho que no? (Did you say ‘no’?)
-No tengo ganas. (I don’t feel like it.)
Javi didn’t look up, but he clearly felt Fernando blinking at him.
-Vamos, tío. (Come on, man.)
-Ya te he dicho que no. (I said no.)
-No, mira, tienes que venir. (No, man, look, you have to come.) –Fernando sat next to him-. Porque antes era sólo para ir a tomarnos unas cañas y ya está, pero ahora… jo, ahora tenemos que hablar. ¿Qué coño te pasa? (Because it was just going to be us having a couple of beers, but now… damn, now we need to talk. What the hell is wrong with you?)
-Nada. (Nothing.)
-Y una mierda nada. (The hell it’s nothing.)
Javi felt his hands clench.
-No tengo ganas. (I don’t feel like it.) –he repeated weakly.
-¿Por qué? (Why?)
Javi shrugged. He’d never been addicted to anything (really, not even to football), but trying to resist Fernando was like he thought trying to resist an addiction felt like.
-Javi… -Fernando’s voice sounded concerned, and Javi forced himself to not look up, because he knew that if he did, he’d just melt, and agree with whatever, and end up spending the afternoon trying to reassure Fernando that he was alright.
He, of course, hadn’t counted with his friend’s persistence, or with how much Fernando knew him (and why, asked his heart, if he knew him so well, couldn’t he see how much Javi pined for him?!). He felt a hand under his chin, lifting his face gently.
-Javi.
Nothing more. Just one word, and Fernando’s blue eyes boring into his. Javi almost felt like crying. Instead, he closed his own eyes and told himself to breathe. He hated feeling so vulnerable whenever Fernando was around, and he hated how the other man could look at him, hold his heart in the palm of his hand, and still not see what Javi was so bad at hiding.
-Vale. Dame un minuto, que me ato las zapatillas. (Alright. Give me a minute so I can tie my shoes.)
Fernando drove in silence, carefully, towards their favourite bar, the one with the 24/7 sports channel and the best pintxos in town. Javi was slumped in the passenger’s seat, looking stubbornly out of the window, every inch of his body screaming that he did not want to be where he was.
He felt a bit guilty for dragging his friend with him, but it was obvious that there was something wrong with him, and Fernando would be a horrible friend if he just let him sulk without trying to talk to him, wouldn’t he?
Ah, who was he trying to kid? He was a horrible friend anyway. Strictly speaking, even, he wasn’t so much a friend as a fake. Trying to get close to Javi, to make him laugh, to make himself indispensable, and all because he didn’t know any other way he could get his attention. Not that it had worked, of course. It seemed like the more Fernando tried to get close the Javi, the more Javi closed up.
There were times Fernando was afraid that Javi had seen right through him and was, in his own way, trying to let him down gently.
Not that Fernando was ashamed of how he felt. He fancied Javi, but who wouldn’t? I mean, the guy was cute, smart, good-natured, with a great sense of humour and the sweetest pair of brown eyes Fernando had ever seen (and he had owned several puppies). It’d have been more surprising if Fernando hadn’t fallen for him, all things considered.
And if that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, with them being professional footballers and all, well, who was anyone to tell them how the matters of the heart were supposed to go? Fernando felt what he felt, and that was that.
Now, if he managed to ruin his friendship with Javi because of his own selfish feelings, *then* he’d feel guilty.
Maybe Javi wanted to be alone. Maybe he hadn’t been lying (and badly, at that) when he’d said he didn’t feel like it. Maybe Fernando was making things worse.
-Igual están dando el resumen de la Serie A cuando lleguemos al bar (Maybe we’ll get to watch the Serie A summary at the bar) –said Javi at last, giving a look at his watch.
Those were the first words he’d said since they’d gotten in the car, and Fernando felt a surge of optimism: maybe things weren’t as dire as he’d thought.
-E igual tienen los pintxos esos de anchoas, horribles, que te gustan. (And maybe they’ll have those disgusting anchovy pintxos you like.)
-Están buenísimos. Que tú no tengas buen gusto es otra cosa. (They’re delicious. You having no taste is something else.)
Fernando smiled at the usual banter, and when he looked away from the road for a second, he saw Javi was grinning too. His heart felt lighter at this.
Once they were settled at their usual table at the bar (hidden away in a dark corner, and yet with the best view of the TV, and zealously kept for them by the owner, a die-hard Athletic fan), with one eye on the Serie A report and a caña and a plateful of pintxos each, Fernando looked at Javi again.
He had dark bags under his eyes and a bitter turn to the corner of his mouth.
-Javi…
-¿Hm? –replied Javi, his eyes glued to Cavani’s hat-trick on the TV-. Joder con el uruguayo, ¿has visto? Y parecía tonto… (Damn with the Uruguayan, did you see that? And he looked like a fool…)
-Javi.
-¿Qué pasa? (What is it?)
Fernando looked at him.
-Eso te quería preguntar… ¿qué pasa? (That’s what I wanted to ask you… what is it?)
-Joder, tío, ¿sigues con lo mismo? No pasa nada. (Oh, man, are you still going on about it? It’s nothing.)
-No me fastidies, Javi, ¿cómo que no pasa nada? ¿Me crees tonto, o qué? (Don’t do that, Javi, what do you mean it’s nothing? Do you think I’m an idiot, or what?)
Javi bit his lip, like yes, he was just refraining from calling Fernando an idiot.
-Estoy bien. (I’m fine.)
-Una mierda que estás bien. (The hell you’re fine.)
Javi sighed heavily.
-Fer, no es nada importante… (Fer, it’s nothing important.)
Fernando was quick to pounce on his friend’s mistake, like he would on a rival defender’s.
-¿Lo ves? ¡Sabía que te pasaba algo! De aquí no sales hasta que no me lo hayas contando, hombre, que no puede ser para tanto… (See? I knew there was something! You’re not leaving until you tell me what it is, it can’t be that bad…)
Javi’s usually generous (and tempting) mouth turned into a tight line.
-Fernando, déjalo, ¿quieres? (Fernando, leave it, will you?)
Fernando was taken aback both at Javi’s hard tone of voice and at how he had used his whole name, which he hadn't done since... since they'd met.
-Tío, sólo quiero ayudar… (Man, I only want to help…)
-Ayudas más quedándote callado, ¿sabes? (You’d help more by keeping quiet, you know?) –Javi said snidely.
-Hombre, Javi, no te pongas así… (Alright, Javi, don’t be like that…)
-No tengo por qué contarte todo lo que me pasa. (I don’t have to tell you everything that happens to me.)
-Yo… (I…)
-Tengo problemas que tú no sabes, cosas de las que no tienes ni idea… (I have problems you don’t know, things you have no idea about…)
-Pero… (But…)
-Y no tengo que darte explicaciones por nada. (And I don’t have to explain myself to you.)
This time, Fernando waited until it became obvious that Javi wasn’t going to interrupt him again.
-¿Ya está? ¿Ya has terminado? Porque ahora, si no te importa, *Javier*, me gustaría hablar a mí. Todo lo que has dicho podrá ser cierto, pero te olvidas que somos amigos, y los amigos se cuentan las cosas y se ayudan. Y es lo que estoy intentando hacer. Si no te importa, vamos. (Alright? Are you done now? Because, if you don’t mind, *Javier*, I’d like to take the chance to speak. All you just said might be true, but you forget we’re friends and friends tell each other things and help each other. Which is what I’m trying to do. If you don’t mind, of course.)
-Tío, no puedes hacer nada. (Man, you can’t do anything.)
-¿Por qué no me dejas decidir eso a mí? (Why don’t you let me decide that?)
-Porque… porque no, joder, Fer, porque no… (Because… because you can’t, Fer, just no…)
-Magnífico argumento. (Great argument.)
All of Fernando’s bitterness and frustration melted away when Javi dropped his head between his hands.
-Javi, coño, ¿qué te pasa? (Damn it, Javi, what’s wrong?) –he asked in the softest tone of voice he could manage.
-Es… (It’s…)
-¿Es algo del equipo? ¿Va algo mal? ¿Estás lesionado o algo? (Is it something with the team? Is there something wrong? Are you injured or something?)
-No, no es nada de eso… (No, nothing like that…)
-¿Es por la Selección, entonces? Porque ya sabes que no te llamaron porque dijiste que querías irte con la sub-21, que si no… (Is it about the nacional team, then? Because you know you weren’t called up because you said you wanted to go with the U21s, because if you hadn’t…)
-No, no es eso… (No, it’s not that…)
-Esto no va de fútbol, ¿verdad? (It’s not about football, is it?) –Javi, after a moment’s hesitation, shook his head as well as he could in his position-. Dame una pista, entonces… ¿familia, amigos… chicas? (Give me a clue, then… family, friends… girls?)
He had been afraid to ask, and rightly so. There was no mistaking the way Javi’s shoulders stiffened at the last word. Fernando took a deep drink from his beer before he spoke again.
-Vale, así que tienes problemas con una chica… (Alright, so you’re in trouble over some girl…)
-No precisamente… (Not exactly…)
-¿*Quieres* tener problemas con una chica? (You *want* to be in trouble over some girl?) –Fernando tried to keep his tone light and his smile in place, but it felt like each word burnt his lips.
He knew it’d come to this. He had been dreading the day that, in his innocence, Javi would come to him in search of advice when a lucky girl caught his eye, and still, he had persisted in trying to earn his trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, there was nothing but to smile and try his best to make Javi happy in the only way he could.
-Es… complicado (It’s… complicated) –said Javi, turning to his caña for help.
-Siempre lo es. (It always is.) –Fernando wanted to rip his own smile from his lips-. ¿Qué pasa, que no le van los campeones del mundo, o qué? (What is it, that she doesn’t like world champions, or what?)
Javi’s eyes were so sad when he finally looked at Fernando that he wanted to go back in time and swallow all his poor attempts at jokes.
-No… no le van los tíos como yo… (No… she doesn’t go for guys like me…)
-¿Cómo tú? ¿No le van los tíos listos, amables y guapos? No me digas que te has enamorado de una idiota, Javi… (Like you? She doesn’t go for smart, kind, handsome guys? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for an idiot, Javi…)
Javi stared at him, and rather belatedly, Fernando realised how inappropriately enthusiastic his comment had been.
-Quiero decir, eres un gran tío, joder, y si ella no ve eso… (I mean, you’re a great guy, damn it, and if she can’t see that…)
-Cállate, Fer. (Shut up, Fer.)
Javi once again had hid his face between his hands, and if his voice was any indication, he was about to cry if he wasn’t already there.
Fernando gave a quick look around to make sure that no one was paying them the least amount of attention, and slid into the chair next to Javi, putting an arm around his shoulders.
Fernando’s concerned embrace nearly did Javi in. He held onto what was left of him composure by sheer strength of will, and by reminding himself that he’d never forgive himself if he started crying in front of Fer.
-Estoy bien (I’m fine) –he said, more to himself than to Fer.
-Javi, si hay algo que pueda hacer… (Javi, if there’s anything I can do…)
Javi surprised even himself by the bitter quality of his laugh.
-No, Fer –he replied, well aware of how unintentionally cruel Fernando’s words were-. Pero gracias… (But thanks…)
-¿Te llevo a casa, entonces? (Let me drive you home, then?)
Javi nodded, and let Fernando go and pay for their drinks, over the owner’s usual protestations (‘Pero si sois de la casa… déjalo, hijo, no insistas, que aquí a los del Athletic no se les cobra… vale, venga, pero sólo esta vez, ¿eh?’ ‘But you’re like family… leave it, son, don’t try, we don’t charge anyone from Athletic here… alright, fine, but just this once, eh?’). He felt worse than pathetic at his breakdown. He knew he should have avoided Fernando and his questions, but he had been weak, he had given in, and now Fer must think he was a pathetic wreck.
-Venga, vamos (Come on, let’s go) –said Fernando, smiling at him like nothing had happened, like they had just had a few drinks like they did every few days.
Javi let himself hope, for a few minutes at least, that Fer would just let it go and pretend the conversation hadn’t taken place, but after the third time that the striker took his eyes off the road to give him a quick, worried glance, he filed that hope away with all the others that would never come true.
-¿Quieres subir? (Do you want to come in?) –he asked half-heartedly when Fernando parked in front of his building, like every time they did this.
-¡Claro! (Of course!) –Fernando answered, sinking the last of Javi’s hopes that he would be allowed to have a good mope.
They walked into Javi’s bachelor flat and Fernando immediately made a beeline for the fridge.
-¿Tu madre te ha dejado tapers? (Did you mum leave you any food?) –he asked-. ¡Oh, tortilla!
-Sigue, hombre, sigue, como si estuvieses en tu casa (Go on, then, act as if this was your own house) –Javi teased him, looking for a plate to put the tortilla in the microwave.
-Lo es. No te olvides que te ayudé a mudarte. (It is. Don’t forget I helped you move.)
-Un sofá. Me ayudaste a subir un sofá, y estuviste quejándote todo el camino. Señor, lo que tengo que aguantar… (One sofa. You helped me move one sofa, and you complained all the way. Good lord, what I have to suffer…)
-Eh, ¿para qué están los amigos si no? (Hey, what are friends for?)
-¿Para quejarse? Pues genial… (To complain? Great…)
Fernando closed the microwave and grinned at him. He looked like he belonged there, in Javi’s own home, with the sunlight hitting his golden hair just so; Javi’s heart was still raw from their previous conversation, and so all he could manage was to turn away just in time to hide the first tears.
-Hey…
He burrowed into Fernando’s hug like he would after the saddest, most bitter of defeats, and rested his head on Fer’s shoulder.
‘Just one moment,’ he told his mind, which was protesting loudly. ‘Just for once, let me have this. I’ll pay for it later, I know. Just one moment’.
-Javi... –Fernando whispered in his ear-. Joder, Javi... (Damn, Javi…)
-Lo siento… (Sorry…) –he sniffled, trying to disentangle himself from Fernando’s arms.
-Eh, ¿a dónde vas? (Eh, where are you going?) –With great skill, Fernando managed to keep an arm around Javi while with the other hand he fished for a paper towel to use as a tissue.
-Gracias... lo siento… (Thanks... sorry…) –Javi repeated, blowing his nose and still trying (unsuccessfully) to get away.
-No pasa nada… ¿estás bien? (It’s nothing… are you alright?)
Javi nodded. Fernando was still hugging him, and ignoring resolutely Javi’s discreet attempts to move away.
-Javi, tío, no me gusta verte así… (Javi, man, I don’t like to see you like this…)
-Un poco patético, ¿verdad? (A bit pathetic, isn’t it?) –Javi tried to joke, abandoning all discretion in trying to get away from Fernando, who was toocloseohgodIcan’tbreathe.
-No, joder, no eso. (No, damn it, it’s not that) –Fernando tightened his hold on Javi-. Estáte quieto, ¿quieres? (Stay still, will you?)
Javi subsided into the hug, so tense that he felt that a shiver would shatter him into pieces.
Fernando forced himself to loosen his hold on Javi a little, careful in case his teammate decided to bolt all of a sudden. He was so angry, so goddamned angry, that he didn’t know what to say.
-No vale la pena (It’s not worth it) –he managed at last-. En serio, Javi, sea quien sea, no vale la pena que te pongas así por ella. (Really, Javi, whoever she is, it’s not worth for you to get like this over her.)
-Fer…
-¡Escúchame! (Listen to me!) –Fernando paused when he saw Javi’s wide eyes staring at him; in his frustration, he had grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him a bit-. Joder, lo siento… (Damn, I’m sorry…)
Fernando carefully stepped away and took a deep breath. He was ruining it. He was spoiling it all, Javi’s trust, their *friendship*, and all over some stupid girl too young or too blind to know what treasure she had in Javi.
Jealousy was eating him inside, turning his love for Javi into a bitter, twisted thing. He felt old and angry and helpless to hold onto what he couldn’t even say he had.
-Eres un crío (You’re a kid) –he said-. Y te has montado ahora una peli dramática y te estás comiendo la cabeza, y no tienes ni puta idea… no es para tanto, Javi. No vale la pena. (You’re playing this great dramatic movie in your head, and you’re getting ideas, and you don’t have the least fucking idea… it’s not that bad, Javi. And it’s not worth it.)
He had his back turned to Javi, and he couldn’t see how his face, pale and shaken until then, started to turn red.
-Tío, te estás pasando. (Man, you’re pushing it.)
-No… -Fernando turned around, realising too late what he had done.
-No soy un crío, y no me merezco que me trates así (I’m not a kid and I don’t deserve you treating me like this) –Javi continued-. Si te parece que mis problemas son una mierda, pues mira, peor para mí, ¿no? Pero, ¡no me vengas primero con que somos amigos y tenemos que hablarlo todo, y después con este tonito de superioridad! (If you think my troubles are shit, then fine, I suck, right? But don’t come talking to me about how we’re friends and we have to talk about everything, and then get all superior on me!)
Fernando opened his mouth, and then realised he didn’t know what to say.
-Y mira, no tienes ni puta idea ni de la mitad de las cosas que me pasan por la cabeza, ¿sabes? Y no esperes que te lo cuente ahora, después de cómo te has puesto… porque no sé, parece que piensas que soy un imbécil que todavía cree en los Reyes, y… y la verdad es que puede que sea cierto, puede que yo sea un imbécil, pero así es como me siento y no tienes ningún derecho a juzgarme… (And look, you don’t have the least fucking idea of even half of the stuff that goes through my head, you know? And don’t expect me to tell you now, after how you’ve got… because, I don’t know, it seems you think I’m an idiot who still believes in Santa and… and maybe it’s true, maybe I am an idiot, but that’s how I feel and you don’t have any right to judge me…) -Javi stopped to take a huge breath-. Y no es fácil, Fer, no es fácil sentirse así… (And it’s not easy, Fer, it’s not easy to feel like this…)
‘Guilt’ was such a small word, thought Fernando. ‘Remorse’ and ‘regret’, too. Tiny words that couldn’t express even half of how miserable he felt right now, watching Javi gesture wildly, so angry now that all his earlier misery seemed to have evaporated, except that when he looked at Fernando, his eyes were still so sad…
-No es fácil y yo lo he intentado, te juro que lo he intentado… he intentado no sentirme así, y he intentado guardármelo, y… y no puedo. No puedo. (It’s not easy and I’ve tried, I swear that I’ve tried… I’ve tried not feeling like this, and I’ve tried keeping it to myself, and… and I can’t. I can’t.)
-Javi… -Fernando cleared his throat-. Javi, tío, perdóname… (Javi, man, forgive me…)
-¡No me importa! Te has enfadado y ya está, se te pasará y a mí se me olvidará porque sé que no lo haces por joder, que lo haces por cuidarme… (I don’t care! You got mad and that’s that, you’ll get over it and I’ll forget it because I know you don’t do it to spite me, that you do it to take care of me…) –Javi was pacing now, running into the kitchen isle every so often because the space was too small to contain his agitation-. Pero me duele, Fer, me duele que me veas así, porque esto significa tanto para mí y tú… (But it hurts, Fer, it hurts that you see me like that, because this means so much to me and you…)
Only Fernando’s remorse at being the one responsible for this outburst held him from going to hug Javi again when the younger man laughed, and it sounded so bitter and broken.
-Ya sabía que te iba a parecer una estupidez, en el mejor de los casos. Lo sabía, ¿vale? Por eso es en parte por lo que no te lo dije… bueno, eso y porque soy un cobarde de cojones… pero… joder, Fer, lo siento. Lo siento, soy así y te quiero y ya sé que es una locura y una estupidez, y que no vale la pena, y que no es para tanto, y todo lo que has dicho, pero… ¿qué le voy a hacer? Eres tú, no una chica cualquiera de la que pueda intentar olvidarme… (I knew you’d think it’s stupid at best. I knew, alright? That’s why I didn’t tell you… well, that and because I’m a fucking coward… but… I’m sorry, Fer. I’m sorry, I’m like that and I love you and I know it’s mad and stupid, and not worth it and not that bad and all you said, but… what can I do? It’s you, not just some girl I could try to forget…)
Silence. Silence and Fernando’s blood roaring in his ears like the roar of San Mamés when he scored.
-¿Qué has dicho? (What did you say?) –he asked, his voice (flat, toneless) the complete opposite of what he was feeling.
-Lo siento. (I’m sorry.) –Javi came down from his self-righteous high and slumped into a chair, looking so miserable that his previous state (before talking to Fernando) seemed downright cheerful in comparison-. Ya lo sabes. No… lo siento. (Now you know. Don’t… I’m sorry.)
-Javi…
There was enough guilt hanging from his shoulders that Fernando could’ve remained standing where he was for the rest of his life, but the sight of Javi so miserable was stronger than all of his regrets put together.
-Javi. –He didn’t know what to say, but he framed Javi’s face in his hands and looked into those wonderful, sweet, tortured eyes.
-¿Fer?
Fernando could have laughed at his stupidity, at Javi’s, at both of them. In fact, he might have laughed a little as he leaned in and brushed his lips against those that had been tempting him for so long.
-Idiota (Idiot) –he whispered against those lips-. ¿Cómo puedes…? (How can you…?) –Another kiss, lingering, questioning-. ¿… creer que esto no vale la pena? (… think this isn’t worth it?) –Another kiss, longer now that Javi was starting to react-. No me hagas caso cuando digo tonterías. (Don’t mind me when I’m acting like a fool.)
Javi was, slowly, warming up to the kisses, but after a moment he backed away and stared a Fernando, his eyes huge in his face.
-¿Tú…? (You...?)
Fernando had to laugh now, and he did, pulling Javi close so he could press their foreheads together. Relief was bubbling through his veins, better than fine champagne and a last-minute winner put together.
-Somos un par de idiotas (We’re a couple of idiots) –he confirmed-. Yo celoso, tú montándote un drama… (I was jealous, you were getting all dramatic…)
-¿Celoso de quién? (Jealous of who?)
-De cualquiera, de quien fuese que te tuviese así… (Of anyone, of whoever had you like that…)
-¿Estabas celoso *de ti mismo*? (You were jealous of *yourself*?)
-Ya te he dicho que somos un par de idiotas. (I told you we were idiots.)
Finally Javi lost the wide-eyed look and laughed along with Fernando, and their kisses were no less sweet because they were occasionally interrupted by a random giggle and a murmur of ‘idiotas’.
The End...
Hope you liked it, feedback is welcomed, adored, and fed expensive chocolate!
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no subject
Date: 2012-01-21 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-22 10:56 am (UTC)I also love dialogue-rich fics, it feels more personal to read a character shouting or stammering than to be told by a narrator that Character X is angry or nervous...
Thanks for reading and commenting!
:)