Chapter Text
Luka stood on the hood of the massive, neon-yellow 2006 Hummer H2 with his Nokia held high to the sky. Waving his device above his head like he was a tennis prodigy with a racket and not a football prodigy with a shitty phone.
“Tenes señal?”
Luka ignored the question coming from the equally promising Argentine forward standing near one of the ugly, neon-piss-colored car’s big-ass wheels. Lionel wiped his thick brown bangs that stuck like glue to his forehead with his light blue AFA t-shirt.
Luka sighed as he dragged his Nokia down and still saw the same result —no bars. Luka fought the urge to chuck his shitty little phone into the miles and miles of empty Texas fields stretched out beyond them.
The two young players were:
A) Lost.
B) Without service to contact their national teams.
C) With a stupid car that broke down on the side of the road in Bumfuck Nowheresville, Texas.
It had started when Croatia’s national team touched down in what could only be described as biblical storm conditions in Houston (Really, Luka thought this whole mess started when FIFA announced this godforsaken country as the hosts of the 2006 World Cup but whatever). Shortly after a mass flight cancellation was announced, Luka was lost in a wave of panicked flyers as his team took off to an emergency bus to get them to their base camp in Florida. By the time Luka made it the car rental kiosk, Croatia was already flooring it across the south. At said kiosk, he had met (for the first time mind you) a scared and shaky Lionel Messi, likely in the same predicament of being left behind. Luka says likely because, he can’t speak fucking Spanish and Lionel can’t speak English (much less Croatian obviously).
One frustrating car rental debacle from a deeply uninterested and football-ignorant teenage employee and nearly 6 hours of driving in pure silence later, here Luka was. His own personal Hell with the weather to match.
Luka screamed into his hands and squatted down on the hood of the car, he was fuming at everything. He was going to die stranded in the heart of Texas when all he wanted to do was make his country finally proud! There goes making it beyond the Bosnian League! There goes any hopes of the Premier League or farther! Croatia had their first match in 3 days and Luka was nowhere to be found! He could feel it all spilling over as the levee broke and he was left with Lionel as his only option to dispense his frustrations on.
“We wouldn’t be in this situation if YOU didn’t get us kicked out of that gas station back there!” Luka blurted in English as he pushed Lionel in the chest and gestured down the road where the gas station was… miles and miles ago…
Lionel seemed to get the message as he looked down the same road briefly. “Ah, ¿hablás de la estación de servicio de donde NOS echaron? ¡No te quisieron cargar nafta porque tenés puestos esos shorts estúpidos!” The same levee seemed to break for the seemingly meek Lionel. His already sunburnt face became redder in frustration. In keeping up with the miming act they’d been using to communicate as of 5 hours ago, Lionel made a point to pull at the seams of Luka’s admittedly small bright red dolphin shorts that only came down to his upper thigh. Luka instantly got that message.
“Estúpido? Oh they’re stupid now? Everyone wears these on hot days in Croatia.”
Luka stood back up on the hood to get away from Lionel. He noticed a light dusting of sunburn on his own bare knees. Luka rubbed his eyes in frustration as he remembered that they ran out of their small tube of airport mineral sunscreen a few hours back.
“¡Acá no se usan! ¡Eras un ridículo!”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of your jealousy! It’s a disease you know?” Luka said as he got back to his very important job of waving his Nokia above his head again.
“¡Parecés una chica!” Lionel said childishly as he slammed his palms on the hood of the car to punctuate his point.
“Chica? I do not look like a girl!” Luka called over his shoulder, faking disinterest. As if on cue, a honk sounded behind them. Luka looked over his shoulder to see a disgustingly rusty Toyota pickup slowly roll past them carrying two average American guys in its passenger. A spark of hope flickered in Luka to ask them for help when the guy in shotgun rolled down his window, said something Luka couldn’t understand through his thick Texan accent, and let out cartoonishly crass wolf-whistle before the car quickly sped off down the road to the tune of that gentleman’s barking.
Second thought: Maybe don’t ask those guys for help.
Third thought: Maybe those guys did not want to help.
Luka turned around fully to see Lionel’s sunburnt smirk.
“Te lo dije.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hear it.”
***
The Texas sun began its descent below the plains as Luka and Lionel both lay across the hood of the car, content to probably die.
They passed between them a bag of steakhouse beef jerky they had picked up from this gas station the size of a mansion that had the mascot of a stupid Disney-esque gopher of some kind. God that place just kept going and going. Luka had lost Lionel at one point when he had gone to pick up those 32 oz energy drinks (the ones that gave both players a terrible stomach ache afterward), only to find the Argentine in an aisle of nothing but 40 different kinds of jerky.
There was something so odd to Luka about the American concept of having a gluttonous amount of everything in the middle of nowhere.
Luka had started idly wondering about what would be the best way to pounce on Lionel and eat him when they ran out of their beef jerky. Lionel’s legs sure were meatier, he’d have to start there first.
It was funny to Luka how they were both about the same age and the same height, yet Luka grew up stick thin while Lionel still had chub around the edges. It had always been harder for Luka to put on weight to build muscle, keeping to a diet at Zagreb that always made him feel too full but with snail’s pace results. Luka imagined Lionel didn’t have any issues putting on weight or muscle.
“Maybe Lionel didn’t have to grow up hungry,” Luka thought to himself bitterly. Although he knew that was likely not true, it’s not like Lionel was a refugee for the bulk of his childhood. Luka had heard that he’d practically been raised in the best academy in Spain.
Luka’s darkly humorous cannibalism bit borne out of sheer boredom faded once he had noticed a sniffling beside him. He looked to his right and saw Lionel’s dark mop of sweaty frayed hair shaking slightly.
Suddenly, Luka was transported back to when his younger siblings would come to him with big eyes welling with tears after each bump, scrape or bruise. Luka hesitantly tapped Lionel on his shoulder. Lionel didn’t turn over to look at him.
“Hey… it will be okay. First thing tomorrow we get up and walk to the nearest gas station… then we can get help and we can get to our camps if we just drive night and day okay?” Luka didn’t know if his English was much comfort or solace to Lionel. Luka figured he really should get around to learning how to communicate his thoughts in Spanish. He decided to get on that as soon as he makes it out of this nightmare.
Lionel had stopped crying to turn over slightly as if that would help with his understanding of English. Luka didn’t have much else to offer him besides…
“Want to talk?” He asked. It was his coach’s magic words that typically worked on his teammates. Luka even added in an up and down “hand-talking” motion with his thumb and fingers. Lionel got the idea. He shook his head.
“No me entendés.” He shook his head as he wiped his tears. “No tiene sentido.”
Luka shrugged and repeated the same hand motion again.
Lionel sighed and turned back over.
At that moment, Luka felt a bit bad. He had been a bit angry and made some premature judgements of Lionel.
Luka stared at the center of his back before an idea overtook him. He got off the hood of the car and went to open the front door. Lionel pulled himself up from his wallowing to look at him curiously. Luka returned by closing the door and holding up the football Lionel had bought back at that giant beef-jerky-gopher-store. Jesus that store really has everything don’t they.
Luka bounced the ball between his knees and raised his eyebrows at Lionel. Something akin to a smile played at Leo’s lips before he hopped off the front of the vehicle. Before the two young talents knew it, they were playing each other in the sport they loved on the side of a random road in Texas. The violet hues of the setting sun blazed as Luka ran an elbow’s distance from Lionel. The Croatian attempted to trick the Argentine with some fancy footwork as he passed the ball repeatedly between his legs which the little genius saw through, and found the right moment to nutmeg him.
The little shit.
They had gotten so wrapped up in the fun of the game that they hadn’t noticed a car stopping before them. The yellow surveilling glow of halogen bulbs approaching caught their attention as Luka stopped what he was doing to cheer at the car approaching them. He grabbed Lionel by the shirt. “We’re getting out of here!” He shouted excitedly, Lionel understood the moment as they rushed to the red Audi Q7.
Before they could tap the glass of the window and explain themselves, someone popped right out of the vehicle. His silhouette was fairly tall, and it seemed he had long-ish hair. The lights turned off and they could both make out more details about the person before he let out a boisterous laugh.
“¡Fútbol! Esta es mi gente!” He said as he bounded over to them.
Huh, Luka thought. Spanish. But not just any Spanish, Spanish Spanish. In the middle of nowhere Texas. The guy looked fairly well dressed in a polo and fashion jeans yet he still took to the dusty football in the burnt grass with a passion. Lionel stood there with his mouth agape like he couldn’t believe this guy was in front of him.
Who the hell was this guy?!
“Um, excuse me-“ Luka started in English as he approached their one other contact with life (other than those cat-callers earlier, whom Luka would like to forget). He brought Lionel along with him by the arm but Lionel adamantly shook his head and dug his heels into the ground. Luka’s familiar “Leo rage” bubbled up in his chest. “Tell him we need help! Help!” Luka urged as he shoved Lionel toward a man who was currently practicing headers with a good amount of precision.
This guy was fairly good Luka thought. The man had tanned skin and full lips with long brown hair. In Luka’s entirely exhausted state, the involuntary thought of “He’s pretty hot too,” slipped through. An instinctual response he’d taught himself to be more disciplined in ignoring.
Lionel sighed before speaking.
“Che, Sergio, necesitamos ayuda.”
Sergio… did these guys know each other? Luka thought as he looked between the two. Sergio let the ball fall on his face and to the ground as he finally noticed Lionel.
“¡Ni de coña, tío, ¿Messi?! ¡¿Qué pasa, tío?!” Sergio instantly scooped an incredibly surprised Lionel into a hug. “¡Buah, tío! Es que eres en plan super-famoso ahora, ¡te está buscando todo el mundo! ¡Si es que el Geri está que se caga encima en el hotel y todo! No me quiero ni imaginar cómo estarán los argentinos, se piensan todos que te han traficado o algo. Yo aposté mi dinero a que te había pillado la CIA y que te iban a hacer en plan experimentos alienígenas en tu cuerpo raro de mierda, ¡joder! Tío, ¿me van a dar un premio o algo? ¡He encontrado al puto Lionel Messi!“
Sergio was cut off by a shout from Lionel as the Argentine shoved his hands to the Spaniards mouth.
“¡Cerrá el orto! ¡Necesito ayuda! ¡Necesitamos que nos lleves a la estación de servicio más cercana!” Lionel shouted —the loudest Luka has heard him since they met (which was less than 24 hours ago).
Sergio’s eyes danced away from Leo and settled on Luka, who had been watching the bizarre interaction cautiously. Sergio removed Lionel’s hands from his mouth.
“¿Quién es tu amigo, tío?” He asked with a smile as he looked Luka up and down. Lionel side-eyed him. “Luka, jugador de Croacia.”
At that Luka’s ears perked up, he guessed it was his turn to talk. “Hello! I do not… I do not speak Spanish…” Sergio immediately walked over to him. “No problem!” Sergio replied confidently.
Oh thank God! No more miming! No more thinking-outside-the-box-communication! Luka celebrated to himself as he began explaining in a word-vomit way. “Messi and I got separated from our teams at the airport so we got a car rental but it broke down a few hours ago and we don’t have cell service so-“ He was cut off as his lower back was pushed against the front of their car while Sergio’s arm extended to plant his hand next to Luka’s waist on the vehicle’s front.
“Too close too close too close,” was the string of consciousness blaring through Luka’s head.
“Sergio Ramos, Spanish football player, and I’m fluent in any language you want me to be.” He said as he reached up with his free hand to try to tuck a stray strand of Luka’s hair behind his ear. “Tienes el pelo del color de la paja fresca para un burro.” He added in a husky, heavily Spanish accented tone.
Ugh. Ew.
Luka slapped Sergio’s hand away from his head and pushed him back. He looked at Lionel with a face of utter bewilderment. He pointed over to a smiling Sergio. “Lionel! Who is this?”
Lionel’s head was in his palm as he shook it “Sergio Ramos. Real Madrid. Un dolor de huevos.” He mumbled out.
Luka understood that Spanish perfectly.
“Can you take us to a gas station or not?” Luka asked with his hands on his hips before brushing his hair out of his face as another gust of evening wind blew over them. It was going to be nighttime very soon, and Luka didn’t want to freeze his little butt off in these tiny shorts he had decided to wear.
“How about for a price?” Sergio said as he sized him up with a wolfish grin.
“Ew, pervert.”
“No! Wait no! Not like that!” Sergio said with a laugh as the sun finally set behind him.
“Look I was actually on my way to a super secret, super awesome club not too far from here. None of my other teammates wanted to join me, soooooo, you guys have to come with me.”
Lionel looked confused between the two English speakers. Luka gave him a reassuring look on his face to trust him.
“I don’t want to go to your super secret party. It’s probably a weird sex cult since we’re literally in the middle of nowhere.” Luka said like the master of the deal that he was.
Sergio leaned in. Luka was really starting to hate his really pretty face and his really pretty smirk.
“No club, no gas station. I’m really your only way out of here, and also your only interpreter for boy wonder over here.” Sergio gestured back to Lionel.
Luka took a deep inhale. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Images of being sacrificed to a satanic sex cult leader in a small cabin in the middle of the desert with Lionel Messi and a maniac Spaniard flashed into Luka’s mind. It was the kinda thing his poor devout Catholic mother warned him about when he mentioned he was shipping out to this stupid hedonistic country. But… then the image of missing his first World Cup flashed in his head too, along with the shame and the self-hatred.
Luka ran a hand through his long hair before dropping it to rub his neck in contemplation. Sergio kept his eyes on him intently. Something stirred deep inside Luka at the attention.
Luka supposed there were worse things to do in return for getting a lift to a gas station.
***
Lionel had crashed as soon as he hit the backseat of Ramos’ car, not even bothering with a seatbelt.
Luka gazed back at him in the backseat in disbelief. Luka was tired sure, but still riding the adrenaline of being close to moving even a little bit forward in this journey instead of being stuck in a stalled state like they were.
“You know, he’s almost adorable like that… almost. Everyone always makes the mistake of thinking he’s a delicate little brother, you can never forget he’s actually a deadly striker.” Sergio said as he kept his eyes on the road.
Luka thought he’d go ahead and bite. Better than awkward silence or pretending to be fascinated by the Spaniard’s seatbelts.
“So that’s how you know him? By playing I mean?” Luka asked.
“Yup, I used to beat the shit out of him in the juvenil days.” Sergio fondly reminisced. “And I keep beating his ass today now that I debuted with Madrid and him with Barcelona… Oh! I’m a defender by the way…I don’t just beat up kids… um yeah” he added on like it was a save. Luka felt himself actually laugh at the awkwardness with which he delivered that comment.
“It’s fine, I’m a midfielder, I know things get rough.” Luka surmised as he leaned against the window with his hand running through his hair. He felt kind of disgusting, all greasy and sweaty and dusty from being outside all afternoon and evening.
“Ah! Together we almost make one team!” Sergio joked. Luka found it odd how good Sergio already was at lifting his mood with the dumbest jokes imaginable. Luka’s eyes drifted to the floor of the shotgun where they landed on a map. Luka plucked it off the ground out of curiosity. Sergio had also noticed the map.
“Oh I don’t need directions, I saw a sign that said there’s a gas station in a few kilometers -er miles I think.” Sergio assured.
Luka paused as he gazed at where Houston (the place they started) was in relation to the rest of the state. “Sergio… where is Spain’s base camp?” Luka asked as gears started to turn in his head. “Uh, Dallas.” Luka looked at Dallas, then he looked out the window at a sign that read “Now Entering: Blue Ridge, Texas….” Luka’s eyes quickly shot back down to the map to see how far Blue Ridge was from Houston… Houston was from the Louisiana border… Louisiana from Florida…Luka crumpled the map in frustration.
Oh Goddamnit! He and Leo had been going North instead of East this entire Goddamn time. Oh that explained why they had driven for nearly a full day and they were still in Texas! Luka had just chalked it up to this being a stupid fatass state that takes forever to get anywhere! He felt so stupid for having driven for so long not knowing where he was going! He was never going to get to the Croatian base camp in Florida! Never! The whole team is going to think he skipped out on his responsibilities and that he’s some lazy fuck who couldn’t be bothered to stay with his team or even get to their base camp on his own! Like he doesn’t care that this was only the third time his country has ever qualified since they actually became a country! Like everything his family sacrificed to bring him to this point means nothing to him! God! He’s so fucking useless and stupid! He couldn’t believe how many people relied on him like his parents, his little siblings, his team and now Lionel! How could they all rely on him when he can’t stop fucking up! And now he feels wet hot tears dripping down his face as he’s sobbing in his ridiculously stupidly short shorts in this random Spanish man’s car! And now this man is gripping his thigh? What the-
Wait
It had just occurred to Luka Modrić… that he may have just said all of that out loud. To Sergio Ramos. And a Lionel Messi who appears to have been woken up in the backseat.
Sergio looked at him instead of the road. “Dude, I don’t know what you just said, but you need to calm down… want me to pull over?”
Oh thank God. Whatever Luka did say, his brain had completely short-circuited into frantic, rapid-fire Croatian. Or maybe Tongues. Luka thinks he understands now why people speak in Tongues.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Luka said as he wiped his tears.
“¿Qué pasó?” Lionel mumbled sleepily from the back.
Luka didn’t answer as he just focused on calming down, he can’t lose it now. Well, he knows he just did, but he can’t do it again or worse. He’s the older brother… he’s the older brother… he repeated this to himself.
Sergio pulled into the gas station and Luka unbuckled himself to get out.
They had managed to wave down some woman working a late night gas station cash register shift. The lady had bright red hair that was near teased to the high heavens and a yellow shirt that read “don’t tread on me” with a chopped up snake on it. Sergio had told her how cool the design was while she gave him a funny look and Luka exasperatedly explained the situation. To his luck, “Brandi” the register worker was eager to help him. She had her own “winch” attached to her own giant truck (wow, everyone here really does own a giant truck) that she was willing to deploy and tow for free back to a local auto repair her father owned to get it looked at tomorrow morning. Luka was so happy he could kiss her.
After Luka gave her directions to where the car was, he asked if she needed him to go with her to help her find it. She chuckled and waved him off “Baby it’s neon yellow, I think I’ll be fine. Y’all get some rest now. My buddy Daryl owns the inn down the road.” Luka passed her the key and collapsed in Sergio’s front seat.
Sergio got into the drivers seat after giving Brandi a complimentary European kiss on the cheek which she eagerly accepted as payment from the young fit foreigner. He glanced over at Luka and watched the sweat bead down his neck. Sergio sighed but made up his mind.
“You know, we don’t have to go to that… super awesome club… I can just drop you guys off at the inn-“ Sergio was cut off and spooked when Luka instantly sat up.
“Fuck that, I need a drink!”
***
The three young adults were shocked to find out that bars around here were 21 plus only. Sergio and Luka as born and raised Europeans were disgusted, Lionel as a teenager who just lives in Europe was disappointed.
“Well no pregame I guess,” Sergio said as they exited the bar and made their way back over to the car. Luka groaned and proclaimed “Ugh, George Bush runs a fascist dictatorship surveillance state,” as he hopped into the car. Lionel said something along the lines of agreeing in spirit. Sergio turned the ignition on and inputted coordinates into a clunky Garmin GPS unit suction-cupped to the windshield.
Ooh, Luka never knew if it was ever a good thing when a party had coordinates and NOT an actual address. Satanic sex party here we come.
“You know, it’s not actually the President who runs the country. Not really.” Sergio said. Luka looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about? He’s the President.”
Sergio rubbed his nose as he started following the gps’s instructions, their little car going evenly with the bright green digital path. “Well it’s like most democracies, where you have the executive, the legislative and the judicial, but they practice a style of federalism where the states have a majority of the police powers and the political branches of the federal government can only enact laws under their textually committed powers in the Constitution. They keep each other in balance so the states can’t infringe on the rights of other states or citizens, and the federal government in turn can’t overstep on state power.”
Sergio finished with almost an absurd level of nonchalance.
Where the fuck was this coming from?
“Okay…”
“Well take the drinking age for example. States can technically set their own drinking age, even if it’s below the federal standard, but the federal government can pass a law stating that states must make their drinking age 21, or have 10% of their highway funding withheld.”
“But that’s basically telling the states what to do.” Luka countered, because why the hell not.
“Not exactly. See, highways can technically fall under Congress’s article one power of the constitution to pass legislation with the intent regulate commerce because transportation and interstate highways are essential to commerce. But it effectively does make it so that way the states have to choose to comply with the law or pay the price, so, they all did.”
Sergio looked a bit proud of himself, keeping his eyes glued to Luka, who had his mouth agape. When he finally noticed the Croatian's stunned expression, the Spaniard started to blush furiously. Lionel looked between the two of them in utter disbelief.
“Sergio, ¿qué carajo estás haciendo?”
“Cállate, enano.” He said through gritted teeth as he looked at the road.
Luka let out a high loud laugh, a real laugh, one he hadn’t done like that a really long time.
“You’re a štreber —a dork! You know that?” Luka kept laughing.
“A dork?” Sergio asked incredulously. “It’s called being cultured okay! I read!”
“Wait… wait… were you saying all that to impress me?” Luka wondered aloud.
“Just forget it.” Sergio said.
“That’s the weirdest way anyone’s ever tried to impress me!”
Luka turned to Leo and spun his index finger around his head to get Leo to understand “This guy is weird” which made Leo giggle.
“We’re here!” Sergio announced an octave higher than Luka thinks he intended to.
Leo and Luka looked at each other before taking another step closer to what looked like an abandoned airplane hangar.
Luka turned to Leo with his fist out “Satanic sex murder party?” Leo looked at his fist.
“No te puedo entender.”
Leo’s fist crashed with Luka’s as they caught up to Sergio striding ahead.
***
Luka only had maybe 2…or 3… drinks and the room was spinning. Flashes of greens, purples, and blues followed him everywhere he turned as some of the most interesting looking people in the middle of nowhere Texas circulated his orbit.
He could feel the bass line of the song seep into his marrow and join his blood stream, his heart pumping only due to the 4/4 time signature of the song currently playing over the speakers. He’d started noticing his left hand was weighed down by something and directed his attention to it. He saw there was another hand loosely in his. He traced the hand back to its owner and was met with giant brown cow eyes at his eye level.
Oh, Leo.
Luka has never felt more seen by someone he’d known for less than 24 hours. The two slowly spun and moved around. Luka didn’t think Leo was one for parties, especially satanic sex cult parties. Then again, Luka was the same way too. He was never a big party kind of guy. He only ever felt up to one when there was something to celebrate. When he deserved it. Whether it was after a win, a championship, or any title. It was almost a bad omen to enjoy yourself before accomplishment, like God would see your hubris and swiftly strike you down. Luka got a deep pit in his stomach whenever he met prideful players. He knew they couldn’t keep their skills up forever, and someday God would smite them for it. It was funny to Luka that right now, he was celebrating when he hadn’t won anything in the World Cup. Actually, it was more likely that he fucked it all up. Maybe he’d get to the base camp eventually, maybe he’d play in some matches (maybe even play against Leo) but right now… he was practically celebrating (reveling in) his pure state of fuck up-edness.
“Luka,” he heard Leo say.
“Luka, gle tko je tu,” Leo said in perfect Croatian pointing just beyond Luka’s head.
Huh?
Luka turned around and was met with a strong chest on the dance floor. He squeaked as he felt around and looked up to see it was Sergio, swaying slightly above him.
“Hey,” Sergio smiled down at Luka, although it felt like Luka was four frames behind any sound.
“Hey,” he answered with a shy smile.
Sergio definitely caught the smile, it seemed to catch him off guard. “I think I’m getting whiplash from your personality.”
“Why?” Luka gazed up at him through his long eyelashes and quickly shook his blond bangs out of his eyes.
“You’re so sweet and shy now!” A laugh knocked itself loose from Sergio’s chest.
Luka watched as the flashing colors poured over Sergio’s skin. Luka felt his arms raise over his head to latch onto Sergio’s neck. A rose blush bloomed over Sergio’s face as his hands were drawn to Luka’s waist. Luka let out a giggle at the touch, feeling all his inhibitions slip.
It felt like a curtain fell over this corner of the dance floor. A warm sense of grounding that pulled Luka back down to earth. The loud music felt muffled and the thickness if the air intensified. He kept looking up at Sergio’s eyes.
“Your eyes…” Sergio said as he breathed in the small pocket of air they shared.
“What about them?”
“They… they look like apricots…”
“What kind of apricots are you eating?”
“Oh… you know…”
“…Smooth.”
Sergio laughed and rested his head on Luka’s shoulder. Luka felt his breath hitch and his heart beat faster.
“There’s no winning with you.” Sergio lifted himself off and propped himself up against the wall behind Luka’s head with his elbow. Luka felt like he couldn’t blink, he just kept looking up at Sergio while his tongue swiped over his lips. A nervous habit he’s had since he was young. It only ever revealed itself at weird times, like when he used to make eye contact with the altar boy on Sundays, or when he’d be marking the teen he’d play street football with on Fridays. If Luka could change anything about himself, it would be those abnormalities.
Sergio looked at him just as intensely, lips dripping with hunger.
Oh yeah, his lips.
Luka had been studying them intently, and his observations have yielded great findings. They were pink when wet like now, but their natural color was a bit more tan. They were well moisturized, likely felt pretty soft…they were getting closer to Luka’s own… and closer… and-
Contact made.
Luka’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt himself pulled into the kiss. Luka parted his lips as Sergio pulled him flush against him. Sergio didn’t take it for granted and licked into Luka’s mouth.
Luka felt like their tongues meshed into one. He felt like he inhaled fire through Sergio’s kiss and breathed out life into him. His hands crawled up Sergio’s long dark strands to bunch them in Luka’s tight fist. He heard Sergio moan into his mouth, and maybe Luka did too.
God only knew how badly Luka wanted this, how long Luka had spent keeping this all in and now that the flood gates were open all Luka could do was pour himself into Sergio, and take all of the other young man in return.
In a last ditch effort to save himself, he pulled back as his head hit the wall and he half tilted his eyes to look up at Sergio.
“You know… I’m not like, gay or anything.” Luka tried to say seriously. He saw as Sergio’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Luka couldn’t hold himself together and ended up laughing into his hands. Sergio looked like a weight was lifted from his chest.
Luka kept giggling “What?”
Sergio smiled “Oh, it’s just that is soooooo not true.”
“What told you? The shorts?” Luka gestured down to the offending article of clothing.
“I think I knew it when you started making out with me.” Sergio laughed out. Luka threw his head back and laughed at that which Sergio took as an invitation to start kissing his neck.
“Although…” he muttered into Luka’s neck between kisses. “Those shorts aren’t helping your case either…”
Luka kept laughing as he rubbed his hand over his face. He’d noticed the gradual restarting of the world around him at its regular pace, which made him want to bury himself in Sergio’s scent all the more and return to his floaty drunken state. Sergio left the crook of his neck to gently grab Luka’s chin and tilt his face closer to his own for another kiss. Luka felt himself hesitate for a microsecond.
Ah what the hell? It’s not like he’ll ever see this guy again. Maybe he’ll play against him a handful of times in the future, but it’s not like they’ll be teammates or something.
As Luka was enjoying another stroke of Sergio’s tongue against his own, his mind wandered. All he wanted to do was drag the Spaniard out of this airplane hanger and into this town’s podunk inn and rock him into the no-doubt flat mattress. He didn’t want to do that thing where he’d toss out a roommate to have sex (during away games, Luka has BEEN that roommate before) so he’d have to check with Leo first… wait Leo… when was the last time Luka had seen Leo? He opened his eyes and quickly tried to scan the room as his vision swayed with the mass of moving bodies, on the lookout for a small Argentine.
His eyes landed on Lionel’s shaggy haircut, pushed up against the wall. “Ah nice, Leo was probably sucking some face too,” Luka thought. He would have been content to focus back on how good Sergio was at tonsil tennis, if only he didn’t catch Leo kick the person he was with in the stomach.
Luka jumped into older sibling mode. He tapped Sergio’s shoulder “mmh! Mmmh!” He let out to get his attention. “Huh?” Sergio said as he backed off Luka from the wall. Luka instantly jumped into action, running to Leo like a newborn deer on his shaky legs.
He reached Leo and the man who were clearly in an altercation and got himself inbetween the two. “Leo! Leo! What happened?” Luka turned from the large nearly pink man with a buzzed haircut to the small also pink Leo.
“¡Me quiere afanar!” Leo shouted. Luka allowed the sounds to flow into his brain however, —he still didn’t speak Spanish.
“This fuckin Mexican tried to hustle me out of 20 dollars! I want it back!” The American human tomato ground out through gritted teeth. Leo pushed against Luka to try to swing at the man. It was almost a hilarious David versus Goliath situation, Leo would have had to jump to hit him. “¡Soy argentino, pedazo de gil! ¡Un argentino que TE ganó al Street Fighter! ¡Dos veces!”
“Hey hey! Let’s all calm down!” Luka said with a well-timed voice crack as he pushed them both apart, Sergio not too far behind.
“I don’t want to hear from you Smirnoff!” The lobster man shouted at Luka.
Luka has never given a blanker stare to someone in his life.
Sergio grabbed the man “The fuck did you say?!” Okay, now this is getting serious, but at least Sergio posed more of a physical threat than the two smaller players.
“You heard me! Gay Speedy Gonzalez down there needs to be taught a thing or two!” And he actually made an attempt to swing at Leo.
Rage bloomed across Luka’s chest. Something wild and protective coursed through his veins at the sight of this massive idiot hassling Leo. Before Luka even realized what he was doing, he vaulted directly over Sergio to launch a fist square into the man’s face.
“He’s Argentinian! And that’s my best fucking friend!” Luka yelled like a battle cry as he began to absolutely wail on the guy.
“¡Rompelo todo! ¡Rompelo todo, Luka!” Leo shouted from the sidelines, jumping up and down.
Sergio looked over at Leo with wide eyes. “I did not know he had that in him!”
Leo responded with a loud, genuine giggle. Luka was small, but he’d grown up on war-torn streets tough enough to know how to defend himself from older kids. In seconds, the overgrown American vegetable was flat on the floor.
Luka felt himself be entirely lifted off the ground by Sergio.
“Oh… that’s a plus,” Luka thought.
“Okay, we have to go now.” Sergio said as he threw Luka over one of his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Luka had felt special until he saw Sergio throw Leo over his other shoulder.
Sergio hightailed it out of the airplane hangar with a screaming midfielder on his left shoulder and a screaming forward on his right.
“Fuck you!” Leo and Luka both pronounced with all the eloquence that two drunk twenty-something’s could muster.
Luka had never felt more alive in such a dead little town.