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It had taken exactly two days of Ferran being discharged before Pedri showed up at his apartment with a tote bag full of snacks and that stubborn glint in his eyes that said you’re not getting rid of me . Not that Ferran had any intention of trying.
Pedri hadn’t been able to visit him in the hospital—at least not the way he wanted to. There had always been someone around: family, doctors, teammates dropping in with flowers and loud voices. But now it was just the two of them.
By the time he arrived, the sun was already starting to dip behind the buildings, casting a honey-warm glow across Ferran’s living room. Ferran greeted him in sweatpants and a loose shirt, still moving carefully.
Pedri didn’t make a big deal of it—just settled onto the couch beside him, unzipped the tote, and wordlessly began laying out Ferran’s favorite snacks like he was stocking shelves.
The room was comfortably dim, lit by the soft light of a lamp in the corner. Ferran was reclined against a cushion, one arm lazily draped along the back of the sofa. Pedri then joined to nestled beside him, scrolling through his camera roll as requested.
“I still can’t believe I missed the title parade,” Ferran muttered, not for the first time.
“You almost had your appendix burst,” Pedri said, flicking through another set of images.
“You missed confetti and some out-of-tune singing. You didn’t miss that much.”
“I missed you drunk on Fanta and chewing everything like a madman.”
Pedri snorted. “It was electrolytes.”
“Show me the photos,” Ferran said, nudging him.
Pedri turned the screen toward him. Ferran leaned in, looking at the pictures—Pedri grinning on the open-top bus, keeping the trophies with him, mid-cheer with his eyes scrunched up and tongue sticking out. And again in the next photo at the stadium celebration. And again.
Ferran’s eyes flicking through the pictures. “You look good,” he murmured, then paused. Ferran tilted his head. “Wait. Why is your tongue out in, like, all of these?”
Pedri blinked. “What?”
“This one.” Ferran swiped. “And this one. Dios , this one again. What is that face?”
“It’s a pose,” Pedri muttered, already trying to pull the phone back. “Everyone’s doing that.”
“Is it?” Ferran teased. “Or do you just not know what to do when you’re happy so your mouth does it for you?”
Pedri’s ears turned red. “Don’t start.”
Ferran kept swiping through the gallery. “I swear there’s at least six where you’re either biting your lip, sticking your tongue out, or chewing something.”
“It was a long day!”
“Uh-huh. You chewed through the entire bus parade. I watched the livestream. Every time the camera found you, you were either grinning with your tongue out or chewing like a chipmunk.”
Pedri folded his arms. “I was hungry.”
“Sure you were.” Ferran laughed, softer now, “I’m starting to think you just need something in your mouth to feel normal.”
Pedri frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back, trying to look annoyed. “You’re so annoying when you’re sick.”
Ferran laughed—quietly, because laughing still pulled at his stitches—but it didn’t stop the amusement in his voice. “You’re cute when you sulk, you know?”
Pedri didn’t respond. Not right away.
Ferran reached out, his hand warm as it cupped Pedri’s cheek, thumb brushing just beneath the pout forming on his lips. “It’s okay. I like it. Makes sense, with that little mouth of yours.”
“Stop—”
“You know… you really don’t even notice you’re doing it, do you?”
Pedri didn’t pull away. Not when Ferran’s thumb gently stroked across his bottom lip. His breath hitched, barely. Then his lips parted—just a little, instinctive.
And Ferran stilled, watching him.
He didn’t mean to. It just happened—like breathing, like blinking. Like Ferran smiling that slow, knowing smile when he felt Pedri’s mouth yield slightly to the press of his thumb.
Pedri looked up through his lashes, caught in the closeness, the warmth, the quiet click of something deeper that neither of them had planned for.
Ferran smiled softly. “That’s what I thought.”
Ferran didn’t move at first. Just watched the way Pedri’s lips stayed slightly open, how his breath warmed the pad of his thumb. It was such a small thing, really—but the moment stretched, sweet and heavy like syrup.
Pedri didn’t pull away.
“Still just a pose?” Ferran murmured, voice dropping as he dragged his thumb slowly down, grazing the plush curve of Pedri’s bottom lip. Then he let it dip in, barely—just enough to test the softness, the space waiting there.
And Pedri—blushing, blinking, breath held like he was caught—closed his lips around it.
It was instinctive. Gentle. A quiet, unspoken surrender that made Ferran’s stomach tighten.
He let out the smallest breath. “Pedri…”
Pedri’s lashes were low, almost bashful, but he didn’t pull back. He just sucked, slow and unsure—more comfort than seduction, but the effect was the same. Warmth flooded Ferran’s chest, and lower.
“You don’t even realize what you’re doing,” Ferran whispered, awed. “That mouth…”
Pedri let go with a soft pop, eyes flitting up like he might play it off—but he didn’t get the chance.
Ferran leaned in closer, brushing his knuckles along Pedri’s jaw, chasing that shy little flush. “You’ve been doing this to me for months. All those pictures. Tongue out, snacks in your mouth, pretending it’s nothing.” His fingers grazed Pedri’s lips again, tracing the edge. “It’s not nothing.”
Pedri made a sound—quiet, flustered—and turned his face slightly, but Ferran caught his chin and turned it back.
Pedri’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second. “I hate you.”
“You really don’t,” Ferran said, brushing his knuckles along Pedri’s jaw, feather-light. “You’re leaning into it.”
“Am not.”
Ferran’s smile curved, smug and fond at once. “You’re letting me put my thumb in your mouth, Pedri.”
“I didn’t say you could.”
“You didn’t say stop.” Ferran said, smile softening even as heat curled through his voice. “You drive me insane.”
Pedri huffed a quiet breath and pulled back slightly—just to speak, not to leave. His voice was soft, raspy. “You just had surgery. You should be resting.”
“This is rest. You being here. Letting me touch you like this.”
Pedri didn’t speak, just leaned in slowly, hands finding Ferran’s sides like he could anchor himself there.
“You know,” Ferran said, his voice sinking to a warm hush, “I thought about this a lot in the hospital.”
Pedri’s mouth twitched. “You really thought about me sulking?”
“Mm. And this mouth.” Ferran’s thumb hovered again, tempting, teasing. “It’s kind of unfair. You make it hard to behave.”
Pedri’s breath caught and stayed there, half-held in his chest as Ferran leaned in just a little more.
Their foreheads brushed.
Pedri’s hand lifted, fingers curling lightly into Ferran’s shirt near his shoulder. Not tugging. Just grounding himself.
“I’m not gonna kiss you if it hurts,” he said, voice quiet and taut.
“Who says it’ll hurt?” Ferran’s breath ghosted over Pedri’s lips. “I think you’d kiss me soft.”
Pedri’s lashes fluttered again.
“You’d be gentle,” Ferran went on, murmuring the words against the barest corner of Pedri’s mouth, “at first.”
Pedri gave a small, helpless noise—half sigh, half laugh—and leaned in to press their mouths together. Careful. Unhurried. Like he was afraid Ferran might break.
Ferran didn’t. He kissed him back, slow and deep and full of everything they hadn’t said yet.
When they finally pulled apart, Ferran’s voice was a little hoarse. “You always taste exactly how I thought you would.”
Pedri blinked at him, dazed. “You’ve thought about it?”
“I’ve dreamed about it,” Ferran said with a grin. “You always taste good—sweet.”
Pedri buried his face in Ferran’s shoulder with a groan. “I hate you.” He said it again.
Ferran laughed, wrapping his arm around Pedri’s back and rubbing slow circles there. “Liar. You let me put my thumb in your mouth.”
Pedri didn’t deny it this time. Just blushed and muttered something Ferran didn’t catch before curling into him like gravity made him do it.
Ferran’s hand was still in Pedri’s hair, combing through the curls slowly, like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of him. Pedri shifted, pressing his cheek to Ferran’s chest, warm and pliant.
It should’ve stayed innocent. It almost did.
But then Ferran’s fingers wandered again—down the curve of Pedri’s jaw, back to those lips that had just a little while ago closed so easily around his thumb.
“You’ve got a real problem,” Ferran murmured, voice low and smooth like melted sugar.
Pedri huffed softly. “What now?”
“You and your mouth,” Ferran said, dragging his thumb across Pedri’s bottom lip again. “You act like it doesn’t mean anything. Like you don’t even know what it does to people.”
Pedri turned his head just slightly, catching Ferran’s thumb again with his lips. This time slower. Lazier.
Ferran raised a brow, heart skipping. “ You definitely know.”
Pedri let go with a little smirk. “Do I?”
“Oh, you do,” Ferran said, his hand drifting lower, brushing the dip of Pedri’s neck, slow and deliberate. “You let me in once, cariño. Now I’m thinking what else I could get past those pretty lips.”
Pedri’s breath hitched—just barely—but his eyes didn’t leave Ferran’s.
“Don’t say things like that when you’re still recovering,” he murmured, trying to sound unfazed. But his cheeks were flushed again, that pink creeping high.
Ferran grinned, smug now. “Recovering doesn’t mean helpless.”
“Ferran.”
“I’m just saying.” Ferran leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Pedri’s cheek, then his temple. “You’re already pouting. You’re already biting your lip. It’s like you want me to say it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.” His mouth was right by Pedri’s ear now, voice just a breath. “I could give you something better to suck on.”
Pedri went still—then groaned and covered his face with both hands, collapsing into Ferran’s chest. “ You’re disgusting. ”
Ferran laughed—carefully, because laughing still tugged at his stitches—but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“You’re red,” he teased. “I barely even said anything.”
“You said enough. ”
Ferran slid a hand under the hem of Pedri’s hoodie, palm against warm skin. “You’re still here, though.”
Pedri didn’t answer. Just peeked out from behind his fingers, eyes low, caught between embarrassment and something heavier.
“You want to kiss me again?” Ferran asked softly.
Pedri gave the smallest nod.
Ferran leaned in without another word, capturing his mouth in a kiss that started tender and deepened quickly. Pedri pressed in like he was hungry for it, fingers fisting in the fabric of Ferran’s shirt, letting himself get pulled under again.
Ferran’s hand trailed along his back, slow, every brush deliberate. His other hand tilted Pedri’s chin, deepening the kiss, tasting him with a quiet urgency that pulsed between them.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Ferran rested his forehead against Pedri’s. “Next time,” he whispered, thumb brushing along the slick curve of Pedri’s lower lip, “I’m putting that mouth to better use.”
Pedri was trembling slightly, flushed and overwhelmed and not even pretending to deny it anymore.
”And you’ll let me.”